Disclaimer: You recognize it and it ain't mine, as it were.
I promised Altecus I'd do this one day. One day long ago. Even now that promise seems fatal, as it did then. But it is now that I come to fulfill my debt, for then, we will be equal.
Fourteen years earlier.
Circe sat in the darkened corner of her wet, stone cell. One that would breed horrors yet never let her go. The moonlight streaming in through the crumbled ceiling flickered off welts growing red from those rusty chains about her ankles and wrists. Her tattered dress, seemingly large on her thin and shivering body, hung limply over her shoulders. It was matted with dirt and blood, like her hair. Like that long, dark curly hair. It used to be soft and clean when she was a little girl in Glacia, but not now. Not anymore.
A group of slaves in the corner opposite of her-three young girls-whimpered and muttered among themselves, their eyes red from crying. Circe didn't have any feeling left. There was no pity left, especially in that darkened cell. Tomorrow was the slave auction; tomorrow was the day her fate would be decided. How cruel Lady Fate was; Oh how she despises me, Circe thought bitterly.
The next morning dawned bright and clear and when the guard came in, an amused smirk on his face at the perverse amusement of a slave auction, Circe was in her same place, unmoved. Dark circles fell under her eyes, and her skin was as pale as white marble. Releasing her from her chains, the guard grabbed her roughly by her upper arm and yanked her up.
"Hello there, beautiful," he said mockingly, "How about a little kiss?" he said chuckling, leaning in. Kicking him with the instinct of an animal, he let out a howl of pain.
"Why, you little bitch!" he called out, pulling out a club. Fear steamed in Circe's eyes for she knew that there was no where to run and no one who cared.
"That's quite enough, Mr. Wasani," came a bored, cool response from the cell's door.
Well maybe one person cared. But then, again, it was only for the profit she might produce.
Swearing silently, the guard yanked Circe by her arm and pulled her out of her cell and towards the Auction block. Towards the jeering crowds. Oh, how she hated those blocks; to be sold off like a piece of furniture. Pushing her up the stairs, Circe looked out upon the crowds, barely hearing the auctioneer yell out her worth.
And so it began.
With each passing moment, bids were yelled out and crude jokes thrown out about women. How cruel the age of men!
Finally, minutes later-though it seemed much longer-Circe was sold to an elderly man in a clean white tunic. He was important enough for Circe to know of him. He was the Master of the Guard in a rather large court of Terrielle, a court where slaves weren't subject to much kindness. His name was Magnus.
Too tired to weep, Circe allowed herself to be taken from the block and hulled down to another holding cell. Someone threw her a new garment, relatively clean to the one she wore now, and instructed her to change. Used to having no privacy, Circe merely turned her back and changed quickly. Moments later, Magnus entered, his cold grey eyes flickering about the room and finally resting on her. Without saying a word, he managed to instruct his guards to take her away as he swept out of the room.
Hours later, Circe sat in a rather cramped coach, riding the winds. Those around her called out questions wondering where they were going, what were they to do and who was their new mistress. But it didn't really matter, did it?
As the coach came to a halt, Circe was forced out by a guard brandishing a club. Not needing to be assured that he would use it if necessary, Circe quickly followed his every order. Finding herself in a crude room moments later with a group of three other women, Circe sighed. No beds, no chairs, no pillows. Two blankets sat in a heap on the floor, matted with dirt. Looking out of the single small window in the room, Circe felt the fading light of the sun upon her, mocking her of its freedom to come and go.
Looking at the other three women, Circe, studied them intently. One looked rather old, with calloused tanned hands and gray brittle hair. The other two were middle aged, in their fourties perhaps, about 20 years older than Circe. One had short blond hair and blue eyes, the other had light brown hair and hazel eyes. They all had blank eyes; Obviously not naïve, then Circe thought. They know what slavery is.
Without speaking, they seemed to all understand one another. They all understood the power of silence, the need to think. Spreading out the blankets, they all laid down, knowing that even if they were lucky enough to fall asleep, they needed to pretend they could. To remain relatively sane.
Sometime after midnight, Circe awoke from a very light sleep to find that a guard had burst into their cell. Smirking arrogantly, he called for them to get up. Two other guards entered, taking Circe and the two middle aged women out but leaving the older woman, Rain, behind. Dragging them out of the building, they soon entered another one, one guarded by an Opal shield. Seeing the opal jewel about one of the guard's neck, Circe made note of both things. The highest jewel the guards have is Opal and here's the man with it.
Circe was shoved into the nearest cell, only to have the door snap close in front of her. Fear flickering in her heart, Circe turned around to endure her new environment. On a bed opposite of her sat a young man, a little older than Circe. He had light blond hair, a little messy and dirty, yet with strand long enough to fall over his empty gray eyes. His skin was tanned, probably from manual labor, and covered with the occasional scar or wound. His expression was blank, and his eyes studied her quietly. He was silent for a few moments before finally speaking.
"I'm sure Magnus thought it would be an amusing entertainment to pair female and male slaves together in hopes of breeding, but I'm afraid I can't see why." His voice was firm yet gentle.
Motioning his hand to a simple wooden chair opposite of him, he said just as quietly, "Please sit."
Circe narrowed her eyes at him, not sure whether to trust him or not. After a few moments of silence, she inched towards the chair, finally sitting down. Looking away, she stared at the wall to her left, wanting to go home. Back to when she was a little girl.
But his voice shattered her thoughts. "Do not be afraid. I will not touch you."
Looking back at him, she cried for the first time in years. She didn't want to. She wanted to appear strong and in control. "Oh, but I'm terrified," she said quietly, her voice cracking as she spoke. "I hate you, Dorothea," she muttered in between her sobs.
"My name is Altecus," the man said gently, keeping to his word and not touching her. She liked how he knew better than to try to calm her down, than to try to relate to her.
"Circe," Circe said, looking up at him, her tears drying on her pale cheeks as she looked up at him.
"Well, Circe," said Altecus, "If there's one thing I know it's that love makes fools of us all, as does hate. Don't shed tears over Dorothea SaDiablo, Circe, for she's less real than either you or me."
Smiling gently at her, Altecus looked away. "I need sleep, Circe, for I'm sure I'll be used for labor. I bid you a very fond good night." And with that, he rested his head back and closed his eyes.
After a few moments, he appeared to be sleeping, and his chest rose and fell gently.
"Thank you," Circe whispered before falling asleep herself. His presence was calming somehow, like a lullaby.
And as Circe fell asleep, there across from her in the dark, Altecus smiled gently and mouthed, "You're welcome." Early the next morning, the guards knocked loudly on the doors. Waking up instantly, Circe looked about, trying to remember what had happened last night. Altecus stood up quickly, putting on his leather boots. Getting ready silently, he finally walked over to the door. Placing his hand on the door handle, he looked down, silently.
"It's people like you that will survive, Circe, and I thank the Darkness every night for it." And with that, Altecus quickly left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Surprised, Circe looked at the door. Apparently, Altecus had learned more about her personality than she had expected. Enough to say what he had, anyway, and what he said was no small thing. Smiling for the pleasure of it for the first time in ages, Circe quietly left his room.
Maybe Magnus was on to something with that whole female-male slave idea...
I promised Altecus I'd do this one day. One day long ago. Even now that promise seems fatal, as it did then. But it is now that I come to fulfill my debt, for then, we will be equal.
Fourteen years earlier.
Circe sat in the darkened corner of her wet, stone cell. One that would breed horrors yet never let her go. The moonlight streaming in through the crumbled ceiling flickered off welts growing red from those rusty chains about her ankles and wrists. Her tattered dress, seemingly large on her thin and shivering body, hung limply over her shoulders. It was matted with dirt and blood, like her hair. Like that long, dark curly hair. It used to be soft and clean when she was a little girl in Glacia, but not now. Not anymore.
A group of slaves in the corner opposite of her-three young girls-whimpered and muttered among themselves, their eyes red from crying. Circe didn't have any feeling left. There was no pity left, especially in that darkened cell. Tomorrow was the slave auction; tomorrow was the day her fate would be decided. How cruel Lady Fate was; Oh how she despises me, Circe thought bitterly.
The next morning dawned bright and clear and when the guard came in, an amused smirk on his face at the perverse amusement of a slave auction, Circe was in her same place, unmoved. Dark circles fell under her eyes, and her skin was as pale as white marble. Releasing her from her chains, the guard grabbed her roughly by her upper arm and yanked her up.
"Hello there, beautiful," he said mockingly, "How about a little kiss?" he said chuckling, leaning in. Kicking him with the instinct of an animal, he let out a howl of pain.
"Why, you little bitch!" he called out, pulling out a club. Fear steamed in Circe's eyes for she knew that there was no where to run and no one who cared.
"That's quite enough, Mr. Wasani," came a bored, cool response from the cell's door.
Well maybe one person cared. But then, again, it was only for the profit she might produce.
Swearing silently, the guard yanked Circe by her arm and pulled her out of her cell and towards the Auction block. Towards the jeering crowds. Oh, how she hated those blocks; to be sold off like a piece of furniture. Pushing her up the stairs, Circe looked out upon the crowds, barely hearing the auctioneer yell out her worth.
And so it began.
With each passing moment, bids were yelled out and crude jokes thrown out about women. How cruel the age of men!
Finally, minutes later-though it seemed much longer-Circe was sold to an elderly man in a clean white tunic. He was important enough for Circe to know of him. He was the Master of the Guard in a rather large court of Terrielle, a court where slaves weren't subject to much kindness. His name was Magnus.
Too tired to weep, Circe allowed herself to be taken from the block and hulled down to another holding cell. Someone threw her a new garment, relatively clean to the one she wore now, and instructed her to change. Used to having no privacy, Circe merely turned her back and changed quickly. Moments later, Magnus entered, his cold grey eyes flickering about the room and finally resting on her. Without saying a word, he managed to instruct his guards to take her away as he swept out of the room.
Hours later, Circe sat in a rather cramped coach, riding the winds. Those around her called out questions wondering where they were going, what were they to do and who was their new mistress. But it didn't really matter, did it?
As the coach came to a halt, Circe was forced out by a guard brandishing a club. Not needing to be assured that he would use it if necessary, Circe quickly followed his every order. Finding herself in a crude room moments later with a group of three other women, Circe sighed. No beds, no chairs, no pillows. Two blankets sat in a heap on the floor, matted with dirt. Looking out of the single small window in the room, Circe felt the fading light of the sun upon her, mocking her of its freedom to come and go.
Looking at the other three women, Circe, studied them intently. One looked rather old, with calloused tanned hands and gray brittle hair. The other two were middle aged, in their fourties perhaps, about 20 years older than Circe. One had short blond hair and blue eyes, the other had light brown hair and hazel eyes. They all had blank eyes; Obviously not naïve, then Circe thought. They know what slavery is.
Without speaking, they seemed to all understand one another. They all understood the power of silence, the need to think. Spreading out the blankets, they all laid down, knowing that even if they were lucky enough to fall asleep, they needed to pretend they could. To remain relatively sane.
Sometime after midnight, Circe awoke from a very light sleep to find that a guard had burst into their cell. Smirking arrogantly, he called for them to get up. Two other guards entered, taking Circe and the two middle aged women out but leaving the older woman, Rain, behind. Dragging them out of the building, they soon entered another one, one guarded by an Opal shield. Seeing the opal jewel about one of the guard's neck, Circe made note of both things. The highest jewel the guards have is Opal and here's the man with it.
Circe was shoved into the nearest cell, only to have the door snap close in front of her. Fear flickering in her heart, Circe turned around to endure her new environment. On a bed opposite of her sat a young man, a little older than Circe. He had light blond hair, a little messy and dirty, yet with strand long enough to fall over his empty gray eyes. His skin was tanned, probably from manual labor, and covered with the occasional scar or wound. His expression was blank, and his eyes studied her quietly. He was silent for a few moments before finally speaking.
"I'm sure Magnus thought it would be an amusing entertainment to pair female and male slaves together in hopes of breeding, but I'm afraid I can't see why." His voice was firm yet gentle.
Motioning his hand to a simple wooden chair opposite of him, he said just as quietly, "Please sit."
Circe narrowed her eyes at him, not sure whether to trust him or not. After a few moments of silence, she inched towards the chair, finally sitting down. Looking away, she stared at the wall to her left, wanting to go home. Back to when she was a little girl.
But his voice shattered her thoughts. "Do not be afraid. I will not touch you."
Looking back at him, she cried for the first time in years. She didn't want to. She wanted to appear strong and in control. "Oh, but I'm terrified," she said quietly, her voice cracking as she spoke. "I hate you, Dorothea," she muttered in between her sobs.
"My name is Altecus," the man said gently, keeping to his word and not touching her. She liked how he knew better than to try to calm her down, than to try to relate to her.
"Circe," Circe said, looking up at him, her tears drying on her pale cheeks as she looked up at him.
"Well, Circe," said Altecus, "If there's one thing I know it's that love makes fools of us all, as does hate. Don't shed tears over Dorothea SaDiablo, Circe, for she's less real than either you or me."
Smiling gently at her, Altecus looked away. "I need sleep, Circe, for I'm sure I'll be used for labor. I bid you a very fond good night." And with that, he rested his head back and closed his eyes.
After a few moments, he appeared to be sleeping, and his chest rose and fell gently.
"Thank you," Circe whispered before falling asleep herself. His presence was calming somehow, like a lullaby.
And as Circe fell asleep, there across from her in the dark, Altecus smiled gently and mouthed, "You're welcome." Early the next morning, the guards knocked loudly on the doors. Waking up instantly, Circe looked about, trying to remember what had happened last night. Altecus stood up quickly, putting on his leather boots. Getting ready silently, he finally walked over to the door. Placing his hand on the door handle, he looked down, silently.
"It's people like you that will survive, Circe, and I thank the Darkness every night for it." And with that, Altecus quickly left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Surprised, Circe looked at the door. Apparently, Altecus had learned more about her personality than she had expected. Enough to say what he had, anyway, and what he said was no small thing. Smiling for the pleasure of it for the first time in ages, Circe quietly left his room.
Maybe Magnus was on to something with that whole female-male slave idea...