Aurelia fought to open her eyes, each attempt pushing her back into a wash of blurred shapes and shifting shadows.
Her vision refused to settle, but her hearing sharpened—far too much.
Screams. Young voices, distant but unmistakable.
The rattle of chains scraping against stone or metal, rising and falling like some terrible rhythm.
It didn't sound like a hall. It didn't sound like a home.
It sounded like a prison.
She tried again, forcing her eyelids upward, but the world stayed smeared and broken, as if her body itself was warning her not to see.
Maybe it didn't want her to witness whatever surrounded her.
Maybe it feared that if she saw the truth, the ruins inside her would deepen into something she could never return from.
Marcus—her one imagined path to salvation—had always been a lie.
His hatred for his own kind didn't begin today; it was a rot that had lived inside him for years. The world praised him as a hero, a man brave enough to stand against the dark creatures, but the truth was far uglier. He wasn't a savior. He was a traitor dressed in human skin.
Marching with the army, pretending loyalty, pretending courage—only to turn on them at the front lines—this was his real glory.
He believed survival meant choosing the stronger side, and to him, the dark creatures were the only side worth kneeling to. It was easier to betray than to fight. Easier to serve power than to die resisting it.
There was a time he admired Aurelia. A time he nearly cared.
But the moment he noticed the fire in her—her bold dreams, her plans to strike at Mortifer himself—she became a threat.
And threats were obstacles.
And obstacles had to be removed.
Betrayal wasn't a flaw for him.
It was the path he walked willingly.
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Splash!!!
Aurelia woke with a violent jolt as freezing water slapped her across the face.
The shock tore a gasp from her lungs. Her body folded forward, trembling, her throat raw and her vision still blurry. Her hair clung to her skin, heavy and dripping, as the cold sank into her bones.
"Get up!" a harsh female voice snapped—one of the dark humans.
Another splash followed, harder this time.
Aurelia flinched, instinctively curling inward—and that was when she noticed it.
Her clothes were gone.
Her breath hitched.
Panic tore through her as she dragged her shaking arms across herself, pulling her knees up, trying desperately to shield whatever she could.
Her eyes finally forced themselves open, wide and terrified, vision swimming in and out of shape as if the world itself refused to stay still for her.
Cold air scraped across her skin like knives and she felt her own breath shudder, heavy and broken in her throat, but she could tell one thing with certainty—there was no pain between her legs, she had not been violated.
"What… what are you doing to me" Aurelia whispered, the words trembling out of her as she tried to push herself backward, nails scraping uselessly against stone.
"Move, you fool" the woman barked, her voice rough like gravel grinding against metal, and she seized Aurelia by the arm, dragging her across the cold floor as if she weighed nothing at all
The moment Aurelia was hauled into the open chamber, the truth crashed into her breath .
She was not alone.
Row after row of girls stood gathered in the dim torchlight, their bodies bare and shivering, their arms wrapped tightly around themselves as if trying to hold their own souls inside their skin, some older, some frighteningly young.
Their faces pale and hollow.
eyes emptied of everything except fear.
Chains rattled somewhere deeper in the hall, a slow metallic groan that crawled across the stone walls, a cruel reminder that this place was not a home, nor a prison—it was the...
AUCTION.
That terror alone, clung to the air like smoke, thick enough to choke her .
Aurelia felt her heartbeat pounding against her ribs as she realized she was just one more body, one more offering thrown to the darkness.
She had heard whispers of this place when she was younger—stories traded in frightened murmurs, tales meant to scare reckless children into obedience—but she never imagined she would set foot here herself.
The Auction was a nightmare reserved for the unlucky, the forgotten… the defeated.
Heavens, answer me now, she pleaded in her mind, a raw ache tightening her chest.
This cannot be happening.
My destiny is to raise armies, to crush these creatures, to restore what was stolen—why have you gone silent when I need you most.
Her thoughts spiraled, growing sharper, heavier, cutting into her like glass. Guilt pressed onto her ribs until breathing felt like a battle.
Faces from the wedding swam before her—people screaming, falling, dying. And in her heart, she believed every one of the pain was her fault.
Her father gone.
Her mother gone.
Her brother gone.
Everyone she had ever loved—swallowed by a world that refused to spare her even a heartbeat of mercy. And now she too stood on the edge of being sold like livestock, her worth measured in bronze rather than blood or destiny. Life felt suddenly cheap, hollow, stripped of meaning.
Weak, she thought bitterly.
Too weak— I couldn't even stand against one creature.
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In the centre of the chamber sat a basin of black marble, wide enough to drown ten men, its edges etched with the words: Purificatio pro Mercatu — Purification for the Market.
One by one, the women were stripped of whatever remnants of life or luxury clung to them. Hands gripped Aurelia's arms, holding her fast against the chill of the stone floor.
First came the honey, warm and viscous, sliding over her back, trailing down her thighs, coating the curve of her waist. Thick as sin, golden as betrayal, it clung to her skin, a reminder that she was no longer in control.
Then came the rosewater, cold and delicate, sweet with a strange rot. It mingled with the honey and stung, leaving her shivering and breathless.
"Oprește-te!" one of the women cried, a sharp plea, but the attendants ignored her like her words meant nothing to them.
Next, the oils: sandalwood, myrrh, musk. They were pressed into her pulse points, into the hollows beneath her ears, along the hollow of her throat. Every drop a mark of ritual, every scent a claim, every touch deliberate.
Aurelia flinched and twisted, struggling to resist, but the grip was iron‑tight. The scents, the touch, the heat—they overwhelmed her, forcing awareness of every inch of her skin and every drop of control she had lost.
This was the most disgraceful day of her life. Shame burned through her stronger than the rosewater or even the oils.
For a moment, she wished for anything—anything—that could take her away from this humiliation, this endless torment that crushed her spirit from every side.
But even as the thought flickered, something inside her clenched, refusing to break.
She lifted her head, lips trembling, and her breath still shaking.
She promised not let these monsters—see even an inch of her pain.
They could strip her, wash her or drag her.
But they would not have her fear.
Not ever .
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To be continued...