The rain pounded the streets of Haven, leaving the smoothly worn pavement
dark and slick. Here and there people ran from doorway to doorway trying
to stay a bit drier as they ran their errands through the downpour. Few
noticed the single small beggar-child huddled in the corner of a dark
doorway, arms and legs hidden underneath a mass of sodden hair and faded
cloth. She, on the other hand, noticed all of them.
Cistra was no fool. She would never let cold and discomfort distract her. She knew that her fair hair and wide violet eyes marked her as a valuable commodity, and Cistra had no desire to end up in a child brothel. Again. It had taken her nearly two years to run away from the last. Longer to try and forget. Elven, the owners had named her, selling her again and again to men who ravished her tiny body. Cistra clutched her tattered rags closer to her body as a shiver raced down her spine, causing her body to tremble.
She remembered being loved once, though. She remembered soft hands tucking her into a warm bed as the sweet scent of lilacs filled her nose. Her mother had always worn lilacs in her hair, "to match her eyes" Cistra had been told. Her mother had told her many things, most grown too fuzzy for Cistra to recall. Tales, mostly, of Heralds and those they loved. Cistra wondered if her mother had been thinking of Heralds when she hung herself. She certainly hadn't been thinking of her seven year old daughter. A tear ran down Cistra's face as her thoughts wandered back toward the day she had run into her mother's bedroom and looked up to see the dangling form.
"You won't have to think of it anymore, Vaishtel," whispered a silky voice behind her.
Cistra froze in panic as she suddenly felt empty air where the solid wood of the door had been pressing into her back. Almost instantly fear replaced the panic, and Cistra began to spring to her feet. But it was too late. She felt strong hands grab her arms and drag her through the door. Worse, she felt the strength run out of her, her body refusing to obey her will to struggle against her attacker. She could not even scream as her attacker dragged her further into the room, door mysteriously closing in front of her wide eyes.
"Now, now, there's no need for that. This'll only take a minute," came the voice once again, this time muttering. Cistra felt her skin burn, green light surrounding her. "I promise my sweet, it will stop soon."
Cistra was no fool. She would never let cold and discomfort distract her. She knew that her fair hair and wide violet eyes marked her as a valuable commodity, and Cistra had no desire to end up in a child brothel. Again. It had taken her nearly two years to run away from the last. Longer to try and forget. Elven, the owners had named her, selling her again and again to men who ravished her tiny body. Cistra clutched her tattered rags closer to her body as a shiver raced down her spine, causing her body to tremble.
She remembered being loved once, though. She remembered soft hands tucking her into a warm bed as the sweet scent of lilacs filled her nose. Her mother had always worn lilacs in her hair, "to match her eyes" Cistra had been told. Her mother had told her many things, most grown too fuzzy for Cistra to recall. Tales, mostly, of Heralds and those they loved. Cistra wondered if her mother had been thinking of Heralds when she hung herself. She certainly hadn't been thinking of her seven year old daughter. A tear ran down Cistra's face as her thoughts wandered back toward the day she had run into her mother's bedroom and looked up to see the dangling form.
"You won't have to think of it anymore, Vaishtel," whispered a silky voice behind her.
Cistra froze in panic as she suddenly felt empty air where the solid wood of the door had been pressing into her back. Almost instantly fear replaced the panic, and Cistra began to spring to her feet. But it was too late. She felt strong hands grab her arms and drag her through the door. Worse, she felt the strength run out of her, her body refusing to obey her will to struggle against her attacker. She could not even scream as her attacker dragged her further into the room, door mysteriously closing in front of her wide eyes.
"Now, now, there's no need for that. This'll only take a minute," came the voice once again, this time muttering. Cistra felt her skin burn, green light surrounding her. "I promise my sweet, it will stop soon."