Even covered in filth and dressed only in rags, she was beautiful.
The child stood before Clarisse's desk shook violently as the madam looked her up and down. This was likely her first time inside in weeks, if not months – Lysandra knew firsthand how brutal like on the streets could be for a young girl.
Especially one as lovely as this.
When Clarisse had summoned Lysandra to the office, she'd thought it would be to discuss a new client. She'd stopped feeling the pang of fear at the word long ago - had stopped caring what other people did with her body. She'd needed to, in order to survive it. Now, she rarely felt anything at all.
And yet looking at the girl, no more than nine or ten… Lysandra could feel something twisting in her gut. Almost as if some beast inside her had cracked open an eye.
"Show us your hands. Turn around. Smile." Clarisse's words were cold and clipped. She'd found the girl begging in the slums of Rifthold – one look, and the madam had seen the beauty the child would grow into. Clarisse had given the girl a choice: eking out a living on the streets or joining her brothel.
Not much of a choice for a child of ten, thought Lysandra. A choice she herself had had to make all those years ago.
Clarisse nodded her approval to Lysandra and jerked her chin towards the door. Dismissed.
Leaving another child alone with Clarisse broke Lysandra's fractured heart just a little more each time. She tried to reassure herself that the brothel was better for the girl than the streets but the weary, haggard faces of all the young courtesans she'd known swam through her memory. Would this girl haunt her too?
As Lysandra left and closed the door, the last thing she caught was Clarisse demanding to know the girl's name. The response was quiet, but surprisingly steadfast.
"Evangeline."
Over the next months, Lysandra saw Evangeline more and more around the brothel. She grew to like her sweet nature and the small smiles she'd let slip when she thought no one was watching. Whenever the girl was beaten by Clarisse for crying or hiding from her 'lessons', she would go to Lysandra for comfort. Lysandra could feel herself loving Evangeline more day by day – a blessing and a curse as she knew all to well what life held in store for girls like them.
The idea came to Lysandra one night as she left the house of her last client. He had been brutal, and she sat on the steps on the porch of the house and stared blankly at the starry sky.
She would kill for Evangeline. There was no doubt in her mind. She would endure this hell day after day if she thought there was any chance of buying the two of them their freedom.
It was hell. Even if she somehow managed to escape the brothel one day, Lysandra knew that there were pieces of her that had been irrevocably damaged by the things she'd been forced to do. And as Evangeline's seventeenth birthday drew closer, she agonised over the thought of those things being done to her as well.
Lysandra had barely a coin to her name. She could not buy Evangeline's freedom from Clarisse, nor could she provide for the two of them if they managed to escape. Running away in itself would be a feat – she'd tried enough times to know how far Clarisse would go to bring her back.
That left her with only one option – to make Evangeline worthless in any madam's eyes. To take away the beauty that had brought her to the doors of the brothel in the first place.
The next morning, Lysandra stood motionless in her chambers. She'd sent for Evangeline but the thought of the girl's perfect face, her youthful innocence caused her resolve to waver.
Between her fingers, she clutched a simple iron dagger. All of Clarisse's girls were given one to protect themselves – the madam's way of protecting her merchandise.
Evangeline. This was for Evangeline. Only that thought brought her comfort and kept her standing firm in what he had to do.
"Lysandra?"
The girl's tentative voice came from behind her. Whipping the blade behind her back, Lysandra turned to see Evangeline leaning against the doorframe. And despite the haunted look in her eyes, she gave Lysandra a small smile.
It had taken her weeks to find that smile. Lysandra doubted she'd see it again soon – not after what she was about to do.
Lysandra smiled tightly back, but it felt more like a grimace.
"Hello, sweetheart. Come closer – and close the door over." Her hands shook, but she kept the knife hidden behind her skirts. Better that Evangeline didn't have to see what was coming.
A crease appeared in Evangeline's forehead, but she dutifully closed the door and moved over to where Lysandra stood. There was bewilderment on her face – confusion and fear.
And in that moment, Lysandra swore she could have felt the crack as her heart splintered and broke.
Lysandra reached out with her free hand and cupped the girl's face. She looked straight into those citrine eyes, the perfect features.
"Listen to me," she said, low enough that no one outside would be able to hear. In this place, the walls had ears. "I can help you."
Evangeline was staring at her now, fear etched into her face. Lysandra prayed she wouldn't scream.
"I can help you," she repeated, more urgently this time. "It will hurt, and it will be permanent, but I swear to you that you shall never have to do what I do."
The girl shook beneath Lysandra's palm.
"Is this what you want?" Lysandra breathed. "This can be a way out – but only if you choose."
Evangeline said nothing. Seconds passed, and Lysandra braced herself for a refusal. She allowed herself to feel nothing save the bite of the dagger clutched behind her back.
Evangeline whispered, "Yes"
Adrenaline shot through Lysandra at her answer. Tensing up, she forced herself to speak.
"Close your eyes."
The girl did so instantly.
Fast as an asp, Lysandra snatched a bottle of perfume from her dresser and smashed it against the floor. And then she was screaming, shrieking at the wretch who'd dared touch her things, the little whore who would soon learn her place. She slapped the girl across the face – stunning her for an instant.
And then there was her knife, and Evangeline was screaming, and blood soaked her dress and her hair and still she held the girl down. Kept her pinned, angling the blade at the child's throat and promising her that now she'd learned, now she was worthless, nothing, no-one…
Then there were hands, snatching the knife away and hauling Lysandra to her feet. The brothel guards had come running, and other courtesans appeared in the doorway as they dragged Lysandra away from the small, bloodied figure on the ground.
And as they caught sight of the girl's mutilated face, those once perfect features now ravaged with vicious slices along each cheek, the ruined face contorted with agony-
Some screamed. Some fainted dead away. And some simply stared at the growing pool of blood and the child it belonged to.
Clarisse arrived moments later, looking only mildly annoyed at the ruckus in the corridor. The dwindling crowd parted for her immediately; most disappeared altogether. Everyone in the city had heard of what happened to whores that defied Clarisse – and none, it seemed, were inclined to stay around for it.
The madam swept into the room and surveyed the carnage. Evangeline had curled onto her side and was keening softly, her hands slipping in her own blood as she tried to lift her face from the floor.
For a moment, Clarisse just stared at the girl. Her eyes steeled over, and she turned slowly to where the guards held Lysandra in the corner.
"Lost your temper?" The madam clicked her tongue "Well, so have I."
Clarisse had the guards drag her to the courtyard. And then, she beat her.
Lysandra had been beaten before – usually for running away. This time, however… It seemed Clarisse was determined to take the cost of losing Evangeline's beauty from Lysandra's flesh.
When it was over, Lysandra had dragged herself away from the courtyard – none of the other courtesans daring or willing to help. Her body was a mess of red and purple welts but Lysandra didn't give a shit.
It was done – whatever happened now, Evangeline would never be a courtesan. Not with a ruined face.
Clarisse would punish her more – Lysandra was sure of that. She just couldn't bring herself to care – not when she had lost something far more precious.
Perhaps her last shred of self, the one thing she had never thought would be asked of her, Lysandra had given.
She wasn't sure she had anything left.