Her eyes hurt. Phoebe has spent the last few hours crying – having been separated from her sisters – and now her eyes stung. She must be a sight to behold – with her hair disheveled and her eyes all red, despite all the work the demons put in to make her at least presentable for her new slave owner. At least she did something to spite the demons, despite everything they'd done to her, including branding her with that mark that took away her powers, which, even now, still stung.
Anything to leave us defenseless, she thought with a snicker, and looked out the window.
She couldn't help but wonder what it was like before the demon's rule. She was too young at the time when they once were free. Piper and Prue had the most memory of when times were like that, and at that Phoebe couldn't help but feel a little jealous. She grew up this way, and any memory before her capture seemed like a mere dream to her.
Ever since the demon's rule, the world the Charmed Ones tried protecting didn't exist anymore. After the demons rule, all witches were forced into slavery by the demons the Charmed Ones tried vanquishing. Nothing was like it used to be. Everywhere you looked the demons were allowed to roam the streets, free of the bounds that once were constructed. And the witches couldn't do anything about it. Phoebe bit her lip glumly. She hates what the world was reduced to nowadays. Any with could agree with her on that one.
Now, she was sitting in the back of the car with demons on either side of her to prevent her escape. One was trying to explain the rules to her, but, for the most part, Phoebe has learned to block him out while being driven to her new owner. This wasn't new to her, since they've driven her to all her previous slave owners before him, but they didn't even bother to enlighten her as to whom her new slave owner is this time. She scoffs. Apparently, the demon finally notices she isn't listening, because the next minute he turns to her with a menacing glare.
"Are you even listening to me, witch?" he barks, and Phoebe can't help but roll her eyes. She wonders when the demons had started thinking the word "witch" was an insult to them. She sighs at his insipid behavior, and leans her head down, her thoughts elsewhere. There was no need to tell him that the people back at the auctioning already told her all the rules, so, instead, she just kept her head down and prayed that they arrive at her new home soon.
To say that Cole was a little upset about the slavery thing would be an understatement.
Needless to say, he thought that it was a pretty stupid idea to begin with, but he also felt a little aggrieved. The only reason the Source had agreed to the whole idea was because a more powerful demon had suggested it. His own reticence to follow through with the plan had cost him. He was no longer a favorite of the Source. Cole knew that the only way to regain his standing with the Source was to go through with this plan and actually own a witch.
It's still a mess, he thinks bitterly, as he walks up to the front door.
Three people stand before him, and he reluctantly lets them inside. Two demons flanking a blonde, but she straggles behind a little. She looks a mess. He notes the sickly yellow skin, large black bags under her red eyes from crying, and unhealthy skin – which looks more brittle than thin glass. For, perhaps the first time in his life, he feels pity. It was only after a forceful prompt that he realizes that one of the demons was talking to him.
"Yes, thank you, I'll take it from here," Cole says, realizing for the first time that he had yet to tear his gaze from the blonde.
As if on cue, the demons left, and Cole is finally left alone with the blonde. He looks her up and down, scrutinizing her appearance. His green eyes eventually rest on her brown ones. He sees that her eyes have filled with confusion, and, presumably, fear.
Given everything she'd been through, including the loss of her own powers as well as being sold as if she were an animal or a piece of meat to a strange man who kept looking at her with an odd look on his face, he couldn't blame her. He clears his throat.
"What's your name?" he asks, so he can refer to her as something other than 'the blonde'.
She raises a single eyebrow at him, and gives him a derisive look that plainly tells him she was about to say something rude, when she speaks.
"Phoebe," she says softly. "My name is Phoebe Halliwell."
He can't help but chuckle. He's heard of her before, but has never actually seen her. She was a Charmed One.
Of course they send me a Charmed One, he thinks half bitterly, half amusedly. Give me a Charmed One in the hope she'd kill me.
Phoebe, however, gives him an odd look.
"I'm sorry; did I say something funny?" Her tone is accusatory.
"Uh," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck, flushing a little. "No," he says flatly. "Follow me, I'll show you to your room."
Cole turns on his heel and walks away briskly. He isn't going to show sympathy for the enemy or any sign of weakness.
He leads her upstairs and to one of the bedrooms. It isn't much, but it will have to do. His house is rather large, being a Victorian style manor rebuilt in 1906 after the earthquake of 1898.
"This will be your room," he says to her, coming to stop at one of the rooms, at the far end of the hallway on the right. It is a small room, it being one of his guest rooms, although it hasn't been used in what feels like ages. There is a queen sized bed at the far left corner of the room, with a newly made bed that looks like it hasn't been used in years, and a window across from that that overlooks the backyard. A small dresser is against the right wall, and right across from that stands a small closet.
She looks up at him, amazed. There is something about her looking at him like that that makes his heart flutter, "My room?"
"What? It's not what you were expecting?"
"No," she says, looking around the room. "I was expecting something more like a dungeon," she replies dryly.
"Well, there's a cellar if you would prefer," he quips, sarcastically.
"No, no, this is fine," she says, looking up at him and smiling. "Thank you."
Before he knows it, he finds himself smiling back at her. He quickly clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck again.
"Well, get some rest. I expect you to be fully rested by the morning – you have a long day ahead of you. You will be starting on your chores tomorrow," he says curtly before walking away so she can get some rest and be alone.
He has to remember their respective places. He is a demon and she is just a witch. He has to remember his place, simple as that. He tries to convince himself that all the emotions he can hear and feel running through his mind, were just figments of his imagination, but he knows that it isn't true. At the thought he is instantly brought back to the memory of him as a child, way back before he knew what witches and demons were, just figments in fairytales his father used to tell him.
After the death of his father, he was taken in by Elizabeth, an upper-level demon who had raised and trained him to become pretty much what he was today. He was pretty much homeless after his father's death, because, although he had Elizabeth, she didn't treat him like a mother would. She pretty much left him to fend for himself and only taught him what was necessary to survive. He knew the feeling of being left on your own, with no place of your own, and just hoping you got through the day-by-day with little to eat or do, so maybe that's why he had such sympathy for the new slave.
Phoebe is certainly confused at the demon's slight show of kindness to her, although it was quick to die. But when she is left alone, she somehow finds herself crying again. She sinks to the floor against the door, with her head buried in her hands. She didn't know what to do now. She felt so lost and confused, and she could only hope her sisters were okay. It is miraculous how she found sleep that night. However, when sleep did come, Phoebe could feel the tears in her eyes.
Miles away, Piper can't sleep. It is the beginning of her second week as a slave, and her whole body is sore. The aristocratic demon she had been sold to was immensely strict and abusive. In fact, the only thing she had to look forward to these days was the occasional visit of the White-Lighter that had taken pity on her. He would do little things for her now and again. He would bring her food if she skimped on meals, which earned her a beating – anything to defy the demon's wishes was worth it in Piper's mind – and he would heal her cuts and bruises on the rare occasions they were left alone.
She winces as she turns over in bed. Her daily beating is still fresh in her mind and she sniffles at the memory of it. She tries to ignore the bloody nose and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She knew that if the beatings continued she would die.
Suddenly, she hears the door creak open and she bolts upright in bed, trying to suppress another wince that threatens to escape her lips. Her nerves calm a little when she notices Leo standing in the doorway, carrying a tray with a worried expression on his face, and she settles back into bed a little.
"I brought you dinner," he says, placing the tray on the bedside table beside her. "You know if you skip out on food, Dmitri won't be very happy."
At the sound of the demon's name, Piper feels a vile taste rise up in her throat before she starts coughing violently. Leo sits on the bed in front of her and looks at her in concern, but she couldn't look at him now so she looks down at the lumpy mattress with the purple bedspreads full of stains and the itchy woolen blanket pushed to the side. It made her cringe just to think of sleeping on it again.
"You need to eat," Leo says, his voice full of concern. Leo reaches down and cups his hand under her chin, lifting it so that she was looking at him. Piper blushes when her brown eyes meet his. 'Did he do this to you?" he asks, looking at the mark on her cheek from when Dmitri slapped her.
She had been hit this morning after she made him breakfast and he swore that it was too cold to eat, even though Piper had kept her eyes on it so no such thing would occur. She winces when he holds his hand over it, and she hears the faint tinkling sounds of all her wounds being healed. She feels better after her wounds have been healed, and feels like a weight has lifted from her heart.
"Why are you helping me?" Piper asks when she finally has enough strength to speak.
"Because not all of us are evil," he says, caressing her cheek. "And because you need to eat."
His tone is soft and honest. She closes her eyes at his touch, leaning into it, wanting nothing more than to melt into his touch and feel the warmth of his skin against hers.
But this world is cruel. This is no fairytale that Grams would tell, during better days when witches were free of demonic rule – when she and her sisters would sit around the warm fireplace. This is real life.
Prue is enraged. She never liked the idea of allowing a demon saying what she could or couldn't do, but, then again, who would? She is even more enraged at the idea of her sisters going through the same thing she is going through.
It had just turned morning, as she is sweeping the living room, her head in the clouds, because that's all that entertains her now. She nearly doesn't hear the demon walk into the room from behind her. She has been working all morning just sweeping, just to make it at least decent for the demon's taste, but that seems to not matter as he looks around the room dissatisfied.
"What is this? You call this cleaning?" he asks snidely, wiping a finger across the top of his fireplace and picks it up to reveal a good amount of dust still on his finger. He sneers at her, and says rather rudely, "There's still a good amount's of dust on here, witch, or did you not hear me the first time when I told you I wanted everything cleaned?" As he is turning around, he adds dryly, "I should've bought one of your sisters; at least they would be a little bit more entertaining than you."
Prue doesn't like the smile that has spread across his face when the thought hits him.
This makes her snap. She isn't about to let some demon have some sick twisted fantasy about her sisters. That isn't allowed when she's around, or ever. She had hid a knife in a piece of her clothing earlier that morning so that the demon wouldn't see. That day she'd planned on wounding the demon that owned her at least enough so she could get free. What she hadn't expected was to be hurled across the living room when he noticed the sharp object in her hands. She had ended up in a heap of the dining room table, almost being killed in the process.
Now, her whole body is sore from the events that had occurred that evening.
What upset her even more is the fact that she had to be seen by a White-Lighter – who, these days, works for the demons that had captured the witches as slaves.
The White-Lighter assigned to her care is a young red-haired female that goes by the name of Paige Matthews. Prue bites her lip to keep herself from wincing in pain as Paige sits on the couch in front of her healing her wounds.
Prue eyes her suspiciously.
"Aren't you a witch, too?" Prue asks aggressively. She remembers from her childhood practicing magic with this young woman.
"Yeah, but I'm also part White-Lighter, so they let me go," Paige replies nonchalantly, shrugging, as she wetted her wash cloth.
Prue just glares at the ground and doesn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through," Paige says, putting a hand over her shoulder to heal the last wound.
Prue still didn't say anything at all, but feels exasperated because she didn't ask for sympathy, especially not from someone who works for demons.
"But, you really shouldn't have started it in the first place," Paige says, breaking her out of her thoughts.
"Excuse me?" Prue snaps.
"I'm just saying," she says, putting a hand up in defense, "that it would've sucked if you lost your life over something so trivial, over someone who doesn't even deserve it."
Prue looks at her in astonishment. Even though she hates to admit it, Paige is right.
"Besides, you're too good for that jerk, anyway," Paige says, dabbing the wound on her forehead.
For the first time in a long time, Prue smiles, feeling much better than she did before. "Thank you," she whispers.
Paige just shrugs and smiles back.
"You're welcome."
A/N: I owe a huge thanks to orchids117 and FanFictionFan9876 for beta'ing this story, thank you so much! You guys are amazing!