001

The first thing Elowen felt was the cold.

Not the kind that settled into the air or brushed against skin in passing. This was sharp, violent—like it had teeth. It tore through her the moment the water hit.

She sucked in a breath, but it came out broken.

“Next!”

The shout cracked through the yard, harsh and impatient. The man holding the pipe didn’t even look at her as he jerked the nozzle forward. The pressure shifted, and the stream slammed into the next girl in line.

Elowen stood where she was, shoulders locked, fingers curled against the chain binding her wrist to the girl beside her. The metal bit into her skin, already raw from days of wear.

Around her, the line stretched long. Naked bodies. Shivering. Silent, except for the occasional gasp when the water struck too hard, too cold.

The only thing on her was a neckless with a cross pendant. The only memory she has left of her mother.

No one spoke.

They had learned not to.

The Manor yard was open, but the high walls made it feel smaller than the Forge ever had. At least there, everything was predictable. Brutal, yes—but structured and controlled.

Here?

Everything felt like a performance.

“Elowen,” someone hissed under their breath.

She didn’t turn her head. Didn’t react.

“Elo—”

“Shh.”

Her voice came out low, clipped. Just enough for the girl beside her—Lysara—to hear.

Lysara fell silent instantly.

Good. Else they'll both get whipped.

Elowen stared straight ahead as the pipe swung back again. Another blast of water struck her, forcing her body to flinch this time despite herself. It ran down her skin, over bruises she hadn’t bothered to count, over the sharp edges of her ribs.

She clenched her jaw.

Don’t react. Don’t give them anything. They are animals. They don't deserve it.

“Move!” the handler barked.

The chain jerked forward, pulling her with it. One by one, the line shuffled ahead across the wet stone floor, feet slipping, shoulders brushing.

The bathing was over.

Now came the part she hated more.

The inside of the Manor was warm. Too warm.

It wrapped around her like something suffocating, thick with perfume and something sweeter—something artificial.

“Line them up properly!” a maid snapped. “God, look at them. Like animals.”

Elowen bit back the urge to laugh.

Like animals? Funny.

They didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

Hands grabbed her shoulders, pushing her onto a stool. Another pair of hands lifted her chin.

“Keep still.”

She didn’t move. She tried her best not to look in the mirror. Those exact pair of grey eyes she got from her father only revived painful memories.

Cold fingers brushed over her skin, wiping away the last drops of water. Then came the oils. The powders. The brushes. The harsh comb pulling through her blond hair that has now become so pale it looked more like a shade of white.

They worked quickly, efficiently—like she wasn’t there. Like she was just another doll.

“Number?”

“21.”

“Hmm.” The maid tilted her head, studying Elowen’s face. “This one might actually sell.”

Elowen’s stomach tightened, but her expression didn’t change.

Sell.

Of course.

That was the point of the Manor.

The Cellars sorted them.

The Forge broke them.

The Manor… displayed them.

For what kind of creature comes rolling by.

Perverts, men with weird fetish, royals, hell, sometimes even men of honor.

But they're all the same. They all want pleasure.

Her fingers curled slightly in her lap as fabric was pulled over her body. Soft and expensive. Completely wrong.

A dress.

It clung where it shouldn’t, dipped lower than she liked, left too much exposed. The fabric was light, almost delicate—but it felt heavier than chains.

Across the room, she caught glimpses of the others.

Some were dressed like her.

Others…

Her jaw tightened.

They weren’t even trying to hide it. Thin fabrics. Barely there. Painted lips, heavy eyes.

Dolls. Sex dolls.

That’s what they wanted.

“Stand.”

She rose slowly as the maid stepped back, giving her one last look.

“Try to look less like you want to kill someone,” the woman muttered. “Just maybe, someone might buy you today."

Elowen said nothing.

If she spoke, she might not stop.

“Roll call!” A loud voice echoed in the halls.

The crack of a whip whispered before the word had even fully settled.

Elowen didn’t flinch.

She stood in line again, this time dressed, though it didn’t make her feel any less exposed.

At the front stood two women.

Mistress Juno.

Mistress Zara.

They didn’t need introductions.

The whips in their hands said enough.

“Straighten up,” Juno snapped, pacing slowly in front of them. “You’re not in the Forge anymore. You are on display now. Act like it.”

Zara smiled. It wasn’t kind.

“You smile when spoken to. You obey when touched. And if any of you think of causing trouble…” She lifted the whip slightly, letting it hang loose in her grip. “We’ll remind you where you belong.”

Silence. It was heavy and suffocating.

“Numbers.”

They started from the left.

“Three.”

“Seven.”

“Twelve.”

Each voice came out small.

When it reached her—

“Twenty-one.”

Her tone didn’t waver.

Juno’s eyes flicked to her briefly, lingering just a second too long.

Then—

“Next.”

The moment passed.

“Take her.”

A maid stepped forward immediately, unhooking Elowen’s chain from the line. The sudden absence of weight at her wrist felt strange.

“Move.”

Elowen walked without resistance.

The glass stands lined the outer hall. Tall and transparent. Brightly lit.

Like exhibits.

She stepped inside when told, turning as the door clicked shut behind her.

For a second, her reflection stared back at her from every angle.

She didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

The dress. The makeup. The stillness. It wasn’t her.

It couldn’t be.

Then she looked ahead and spotted the same pervert that comes around to stroke himself out in the public while looking at them in the glass. Just the sight of them is enough to climax that old bastard. She watched him come with a pathetic but satisfied expression and then took her eyes off when he started stroking again, looking straight at her this time.

Ew.

“Elo.”

Lysara’s voice came from the stand beside hers.

Elowen closed her eyes briefly.

“Don’t talk,” she said quietly. “The mistresses won't like it."

But Lysara never listened. She's a petite brunette with faint strange markings all over her body.

“I heard something,” she whispered, leaning closer to the glass. “From the maids earlier.”

Elowen kept her gaze forward.

“Lysara—”

“The alpha brothers were spotted on the next street. Can you believe it? The quintuplets are here!”

That made her pause. Just for a second.

Then she forced herself to breathe. “Keep your voice down.”

" It’s the fifth market day. The last one.” Lysara’s voice held something dangerous.

Hope.

“They’ll want the best options.”

Elowen turned her head slightly, just enough to look at her. “You think they'd come here for this?” she asked, voice low. “We are not the best options. The best slaves are in storage for winter.”

Lysara hesitated. “I just…what if…”

“They won't,” Elowen cut in. " I don't want to get another whipping because of you, again!” Her tone was sharper now.

Final.

“Their kind doesn’t come to places like this. And even if they did—” She looked away again. “They’re not different from the rest.”

Lysara frowned. “I heard the fifth one is nice.”

That did it. Lysara will never shut up about those cruel quintuplets!

Elowen let out a short, humorless breath. “Nice?” Her fingers tightened at her sides. “There’s no such thing.”

“But…”

“They’re all the same, Lysara.” Her voice dropped, colder now. “Power. Ego. Control. That’s all they are.”

Silence stretched between them. Lysara didn’t argue this time.

" And even if somehow they come here, it won't be because of us left overs. Look at you, you have scars all over you. And me, one look at this goddamn scar…" Elowen sadly touched her shoulder.

Elowen gets really irritated easily. And they've been friends since the Cellars. And somehow, they got moved together.

Elowen faced forward again, her reflection staring back at her.

Her chest felt tight but she pushed the feeling down.

The fifth market day. The last chance.

After today… the ones who didn’t sell?

Elowen didn’t want to think about it so she let her mind drift way.

The war.

Flashes of fire. Screams. Blood. The night everything ended.

Her family. Gone.

Him. Sorrian. The love of her life was also killed in the cold war. And she has mourned him ever since.

Her throat tightened and she forced the thought away.

That life didn’t exist anymore. This was her reality now.

A glass box. A number.

Waiting to be bought. Her jaw clenched.

But then, there was a sudden unrest.

Elowen looked around and finally at Lysara who only shrugged.

The footsteps were aster than usual.

Voices. Hushed into whispers.

“Move, move—everything needs to be ready!”

“They’re almost here!”

“Fix the lighting—no, not like that!”

The energy shifted instantly.

Maids rushed past, adjusting, straightening, panicking.

Lysara pressed closer to the glass, eyes wide.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

No one answered her while Elowen watched silently.

Something was happening because even the mistresses had straightened. Juno smoothed her dress. Zara checked her reflection.

That never happened.

“Stand properly!” Juno snapped suddenly, glaring at the line of displays. “All of you!”

Elowen didn’t move. She was already still.

Lysara huffed softly. “I can’t see anything.”

Elowen didn’t respond because she really didn’t care.

Then there was a sound of a car. Low. Smooth. Expensive. It rolled to a stop just outside.

Everything went quiet. Too quiet.

Even the maids froze.

And finally, the door opened.

A figure stepped out. Tall. Composed.

Power rolled off him without effort.

Elowen’s body reacted before her mind could stop it. A strange tension pulled tight beneath her skin.

She hated it instantly.

Lysara’s breath caught beside her in a whisper.

“Sir Zevrian Damaris.”