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The crowd's hungry eyes devour her as she steps into the torchlight. Merchants, nobles, and all manner of dark creaturesappraise her like a piece of meat. I've seen that look a thousand times, and it still makes my skin crawl.
"Turn," I instruct softly, and she obeys, pivoting slowly to give the buyers a full view. Her chains clink with each movement, a grim reminder of her newfound status.
As bids start flying, I retreat to the shadows where the next "lot" waits. An old man, his beard streaked with gray, stands hunched and defeated. I straighten his tattered shirt, trying to make him look presentable.
"They might go easy on you," I lie, knowing full well that age means nothing to these vultures. "Just... try to look strong."
He nods, a single tear rolling down his weathered cheek. I wipe it away quickly before anyone notices. Weakness only drives the price down, and a lower price often means a crueler fate.
The day drags on, each sale chipping away at what's left of my soul. By the time the sun sets, my throat is raw from barking instructions, and my hands are sore from adjusting chains and wiping away tears.
I'm herding another group of slaves onto the auction block when a meaty hand clamps down on my shoulder. The stench of cheap ale and sweat assaults my nostrils as I'm yanked backward.
"This one's a pretty little thing," a gravelly voice slurs in my ear. "How much for a taste, eh?"
I spin around, coming face-to-face with a hulking brute of a man. His bloodshot eyes roam over me, a lecherous grin splitting his ruddy face. My stomach churns.
"I'm not for sale," I snap, trying to wrench free. His grip tightens, fingers digging into my flesh.
"Everything's for sale in the Dark Market, sweetheart," he chuckles, pulling me closer. "Just name your price."
Panic rises in my throat as I scan the crowd for help. But in this sea of monsters and merchants, who would lift a finger for a lowly slave handler?
For once, where are my overseers? They won't like someone touching what is theirs.
"Let go," I hiss, stomping on his foot. He yelps but doesn't release me.
"Feisty!" he laughs. "I like that. Makes it more fun to break 'em."
His free hand paws at my waist, and I feel bile rise in my throat. I twist, searching for an escape, but we're hemmed in by the pressing throng of market-goers.
"I said, I'm not merchandise!" I snarl, driving my elbow into his gut. He grunts, doubling over, but his grip on my arm remains iron-tight.
"You little bitch," he growls, straightening up. His eyes flash with anger, and I know I've made a mistake. In this place, defiance is met with brutality.
He raises his hand, and I brace for the blow. But before it can land, a voice cuts through the din.
I freeze, my heart plummeting as a familiar voice cuts through the chaos.
"Now, now, gentlemen. Let's not be hasty."
The silky tone belongs to Malakh, one of the dark elves who oversees this wretched place. His violet eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he saunters towards us, parting the crowd like a shark through water.
"While it's true that our little Naia isn't officially on the market," Malakh continues, his gaze raking over me, "everything does indeed have a price here."
The brute's grip on my arm loosens slightly, but I'm too terrified to move. Malakh's words hang in the air like a death sentence.
"My lord," I begin, my voice trembling, "please, I've served faithfully-"
Malakh holds up a hand, silencing me with a look. "Hush, pet. The elves are talking."
He turns to the man who accosted me, appraising him with a raised eyebrow. "You seem quite taken with our Naia. She is rather... unique, isn't she? One of our most valuable assets."
My breath catches in my throat. I've seen that calculating look in Malakh's eyes before, usually right before he strikes a particularly lucrative deal. This can't be happening.
"How much?" the brute grunts, his meaty fingers digging into my flesh once more.
Malakh's lips curl into a predatory smile. "Well now, that depends. Are we talking about a temporary arrangement, or something more... permanent?"
