1
Amelie
It feels like my birthday. It’s not that I’m excellent at keeping track of the days, from the window of this little room. Hardly a room at all, I have to admit. No, it’s a feeling I have in the pit of my stomach, that’s growing more sour with every passing day. The tension of my keepers, getting impatient as I come of age. I must be twenty, by now, though the seasons have drifted by like the clouds above. Meaningless.
I lean against the narrow frame of the window, watching the street below. It’s my only entertainment here. The lone book they gave me weathered and worn from too many read throughs. I already know it by heart. They don’t think humans need much to survive. This place is little more than a cell: a toilet, a bed, a sink… Enough to keep me alive, and little else.
It’s not unknown what the dark elves do here, at Club L’amouer. I’ve heard the screams for years, of pleasure and pain. I was brought here as a child, under the impression that it was safe compared to the rest of the empire.
But that is not the case.
They refuse to tell me why I haven’t yet been thrown into the pit with my friends, to be played with by their patrons until I expire. I’ve heard stories from Honey and have seen the marks. I’ve waited in this room for years, biding my time until they decide to drag me out and submit me to their wicked whims.
Every day, I have to wonder, is this it?
There is a strict order in their world. The upper caste of dark elves that rule over everyone else, and their appointed talents—from artists to warriors and minor nobles. The lower caste, merchants and laborers and even criminals have a place in their society. Humans and the other species don’t even make the rank, existing beneath their feet, entirely at the mercy of their dark magic. We subsist as little more than pets for their amusement.
I am worth only what my master can sell me for.
Swift footsteps sweep past my door, making me cringe. It is not often the dark elves come down this hall, but when they do, it is smart to be afraid. Hopefully, they pass by without a word. I would rather miss a meal than come face to face with a Zagfer—dark elf servants with a heavy chip on their shoulders.
They do the club master’s bidding without hesitation, but there’s a gleam in their dark eyes as if, without their shackles, they’re capable of greater evil than even their master can imagine. I shudder at the very thought of them.
Another set of footsteps closes in, and I brace myself, listening for their passing. But instead, they stop at my door. Again, I have to ask myself, is this it? when a heavy knock jars me from my focus.
“Amelie,” comes a deep and grating voice.
I say nothing.
A key scrapes the lock, and the knob turns. It opens to one of them, just as I feared. He says nothing as he takes me in, his hard eyes roving over my threadbare clothes concealed by the washed out robe I use to cover myself. I tuck it tighter around my chest as if to hide my frame from him, but it does nothing to deter his hungry gaze.
“What do you want?”
His grin broadens, his massive frame barely fitting in the room as he enters and reaches for me. I’m too frightened to pull away when he grabs me by the arm, jostling me and forcing me to my feet. Even as he drags me out of the room, I try to secure the robe that’s slipped around my shoulders.
My voice quivers when I dare speak out against his handling. “What’s the meaning of this? Where are you taking me?”
He says nothing, my heavy boots clomping harder than his fine leather soles, though he’s easily twice my height and three times my weight. I am not prepared for whatever they have planned, though I’ve been waiting most of my life to find out. My limbs are weak from years of captivity, and my knees give out on me.
But the dark elf won’t let me collapse, his grip too tight around my elbow.
The sounds of couplings are louder here, and the smell of hot flesh and sex is noxious. I can barely breathe as he drags me through their menagerie of rooms, some doors open to reveal the goings on inside.
I catch only glances, but the images sear themselves into my mind.
A woman is shackled from the ceiling, her body strained between heavy manacles that pull her taut as a dark elf patron rails her from behind. Her screams are senseless and batting, and I know she must be in great pain. It’s a hard contrast to the gratification blooming over her host’s countenance. In another room, several dark elves are crowded around a human who can’t even let out a scream, choking on some kind of foul liquid. I can’t even tell if they’re male or female. All I can see is the surge of their flesh between the naked limbs of their dark elf masters.
Is that what will happen to me?
Of course, not, comes a small voice inside of me, I am the most expensive pet here. They will reserve me for something far worse, I’m sure. The thought brings tears to my eyes, blurring the horrible display as I am dragged toward the front of the building.
A human male nearly bolts from his captor, only to be dragged back in by a heavy dark hand and onto a waiting cock. Even as he struggles, his own cock goes hard against his will, and I understand the gleam of fear in his eyes as he stares right through me.
The space opens to more of the same, and as horrible as the sight is, I can’t tear my gaze away. There’s a woman, shackled to the bottom of a shallow pool, her head barely above the yellow waters as several dark elves take aim at her face. Hot streams cut off her gasps and make her choke as they laugh at her expense.
Two more sit atop human figures—who strain beneath the weight of them—watching with glee as the woman slowly drowns in their collective fluids. There are people strung from the ceiling here too, unmoving. I can’t be sure if they’re still alive or not, but no one seems to care. They’re finished with those ones, and they’ll be dragged away soon enough.
I want to puke.
But showing weakness will only make my punishment more severe, when it finally comes. I have to remain stoic and silent among the worst of it. The hot panting of a dark elf as he mounts one of the unconscious humans echoes in my mind, even as we turn down another hall, away from the gruesome orgy.
I can breathe a little better here, though the air is still thick with the reek of sex.
The Zagfer catches me by the nape of my neck and leads me forward, his grip tightening as we near the master’s office. A chill runs up my spine as I tear out of his grasp and turn to face him. He may be doing his master’s bidding, but he is not my owner, and I will not be treated like a pet by him. “Get your hands off me, Zagfer.”
He takes no offense to his title, measuring me up and licking his lips.
Disgust finds me again and I straighten. What is the point of being the most sought after pet if I am subjected to the whims of the master’s servants? He wants to sell me to the highest bidder, and for that, I need to be pure before they put me on the auction block.
I bare my teeth at him in the only language they know and grab the handle to the master’s door. “It will never be your turn,” I say with certainty, stealing the smug expression from his face. He glowers at me as I turn the handle and enter.
I am pleased with myself, until that too is stolen from me.
