This is quite a dark fic, which is why I've rated it M rather than T which is my usual. For anyone who might find certain things triggering, here are the warnings.
This story contains murder, rape, slavery, death, prostitution and underage girls forced into situations they rather would not be in. If any of this disturbs you, please do not read the fic.
I will never go into detail about children being used for sex, but the implication is going to be there. Again, if this offends/upsets/triggers you, please don't read this fic.
It's the first I've ever written with the themes of this nature, so bare with me. I've been working on this for a while
As always, Fable isn't mine, but the OC's and alternate storyline are. Thanks.
Water dripped slowly from the stalactite on the roof of the cave, its steady and continuous plipping into the puddle forming below it making the residents of the cave twitch with each noise. And though the sound made each of them want to rip their hair from their skulls with frustration, not one soul dared breathe a word about it. Only the wild desperate eyes of the girls met, wide and scared, in the faint gloom of the darkness.
It wasn't only the water that was unsettling them. Each of the girls aged between eight and twelve, each were caged separately. The stench of stale sweat and urine punctured the air, which in turn had caused a wave of vomiting from the youths, only adding to the foulness. Blood spattered their faces, their arms and their clothes, or what were the tattered remains of them.
This was the root of Albion's underground sex slave trade.
These girls were plucked from their homes in the beginning of their youth, where their purity and innocence could be guaranteed, and their souls were easy to crush.
Among them was a girl with the brightest blue eyes and hair the colour of fire and gold, sat on the cold damp ground with her knees tucked up to her chin, her arms wrapped protectively around her thin, malnourished frame. She'd been here the longest, as it took a few months for the men to collect their girls. Her shoulders seemed to jut out sharply from her torso; her arms seemed long and gangly, as did her legs. If you looked closely you could see her ribs through her skin and her backbones ridged up in a long thin line. Her cheeks were sallow and sunken, and she appeared a good few years older than she was. Her eyes held life though, defiance, which was pronounced more as around her left calf was a thick, pink scar, where her captor had lashed out at her with a whip and cut through her flesh, laughing as he did so. He'd made her a second rate slave, her body was ruined in the eyes of the buyers, but her virginity was still in tact and that would still raise a hefty price for her body.
And at nine years old, she was highly aware of this fact. She knew when she was younger, barely five, and she looked at her family that she wasn't going to amount to much in life, that she would be a below rate citizen and she would probably grow to become in her teenage years a common harlot. It would be the only way she'd help provide money for her family. Her parents shop sold very little, her brothers were criminals, and they lived in Gunk – a small hamlet neighbouring Bloodstone and the terrible Wraithmarsh.
Looking around to the sleeping faces of their guards, the men who'd sell them off the next morning to the highest bidder, she felt her stomach and her heart clench, her lungs seemed to falter and before she knew it a panic attack swept over her, gripping her, and she was sobbing quietly into her arms, one small hand wrapped around her last birthday present from her brothers; a small silver locket, simple and third hand, and with no glass inside to hold a picture of them all, smiling at her.
After a moment of panic and tears she managed to hush herself and not wake the guards, and with that, Elouise Finn sniffled once more and rolled over on the ground, falling fitfully into a dark dream, almost as nightmarish as her reality.