I opened my eyes to chains and darkness.
"Get up!"
A voice cracked like a whip. My head throbbed. My vision blurred. The cold bite of iron dug into my wrists, scraping against bone.
"Get up, you!"
Another voice. Harsher. Closer. I flinched as a bucket of water—cold, fish-stinking, mixed with something darker—splashed across my face. I tasted blood. Perhaps not mine.
Reality rushed in.
I was chained. My wrists were not just raw; strips of skin hung loose, white bone gleaming in the dim light. Around me, rows of girls—some younger than Flavia, one so small she still clutched a rotting cloth doll. Their faces were streaked with tears and blood. Their bodies were a canvas of purple bruises and deep, weeping lashes.
Why would Mother chain me?
The question was a hot poker in my chest, twisting deeper with every heartbeat. The same hands that had smoothed my hair as a child, that had whispered lullabies when nightmares chased me—those hands had locked me in irons.
A warehouse. The stench of old blood and fear soaked into the walls. Iron rings bolted into the floor, chains running through them like a spider's web. This was not the Lupanar. This was a holding pen for the auction.
Before I could process more, the whip cracked.
"Get up! Get up!"
The lash found bare skin. A girl's back split open like overripe fruit, spraying blood across the dirt floor.
My legs moved without thought. Compelled by terror.
Just this, I told myself. Just let me survive this.
Then Flavia's voice shattered my fragile composure.
"Aurelia... Aurelia."
A thread of hope in the chaos. I turned. My chains rattled, each link grinding against open wounds.
There she was. Flavia. Her small frame trembling violently. Her tear-streaked face pale with a fear that looked like death itself.
"Flavia." My voice cracked. I tasted iron.
Her eyes filled with tears. "Aurelia, I am scared."
My heart shattered.
I looked around. Some of the girls were no older than five, their skin whipped to ribbons, their cries tearing the air like shattering glass.
Where are the gods?
The guards dragged us forward. Their boots were caked in dried blood. Flavia stumbled. Her chains clinked.
"It is all my fault," I muttered. "I could not protect her. I deserve to die."
Flavia's voice cut through my despair. "It is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You only loved her. She is dead to me."
Her words were not a knife. They were a rusty saw, working through my heart.
"I will save you," I vowed. "I will actually save you this time. I swear."
"Please do not swear again on Father." Her voice trembled. "He is dead. Let him rest."
Her words struck me like a sledgehammer.
"I knew she hated us," Flavia whispered. Her voice was hollow. "We were not male. After Father died, the estate was taken from her. She blames us—like we were the fault. Like we made her produce girls."
Flavia stumbled again. Her small legs buckled.
"Everything will be fine," I promised.
Flavia's eyes met mine. Sorrow far beyond her years filled them.
"Do not swear," she said. "Not this time."
Then quieter, as if to herself:
"Aurelia, I may die or leave. May the will of the heavens take place."
"No—" I lunged forward. The chains held me fast. Too strong. Too cruel.
The auction block loomed ahead.
Light—blinding, merciless—flooded my vision.
---
"Fifteen sold!"
The first thing I heard. Fifteen. Like cattle.
I blinked, expecting monsters—claws, shadows, fangs.
But I saw only humans. Men in fine tunics splattered with blood. Women with cold eyes holding wine glasses. Merchants counting coins stained red.
And at the back, standing apart, a carriage draped in black. No horses, but it had moved somehow. Its curtains were drawn. I could feel something watching from within. Something that did not need to show itself.
The girl before my sister was shoved forward.
"Let the bidding begin!"
"Ten." "Twenty." "Thirty."
"Thirty," the auctioneer held her chin, his fingers digging deep enough to bruise. "For this piece of meat. Look—sexy breasts."
His hand groped her chest. She cried out.
"Her private parts will be more beautif—"
Spht.
She spat a mouthful of blood and saliva into his eyes.
The crowd gasped.
"Sorry," the auctioneer said softly, almost politely, as he wiped his face. "The lady is dead."
His nails elongated. Black. Sharp as obsidian shards. He did not slice. He plunged them into her throat. Ripped sideways.
Her head hung by a thread of muscle and spine. Blood poured in a hot, relentless stream. She choked. Her body twitched. Then he finished the job with a sickening crack.
I waited for Flavia to scream. To cry.
She did not move.
Her face was stone.
He is a dark creature. Father's words whispered in my memory: "They look like us, until they do not."
I looked at Flavia. Her legs shook—violent tremors she could not control.
"And for this fine—"
"Please do not lie," a voice called from the crowd. "Fine? She is too thin."
Laughter rippled through the room like poison.
That was my sister they were mocking.
"Stop! Stop!" I screamed. My voice was lost in the din of hungry monsters.
---
The auctioneer's voice cut through the blood-scented air.
"Let the bidding begin."
"Three."
"Ten."
"Ten is too much!" a voice jeered. "Look at her! Skin and bones!"
Flavia's voice rang out, clear as temple bells.
"I am too thin, you said!"
The room fell silent.
Flavia, no. Please stop. They will kill you.
"I am small, yes. Look—that is my mother over there."
Her small finger pointed. A tiny dagger of truth.
My eyes followed. Mother stood motionless at the back. No emotion. No regret. Carved from marble and ice.
"I bet there are more humans here," Flavia continued, her voice gaining strength. "If I die today, what difference would it make? King Spartacus fought for human freedom until his last breath. My father died a soldier. I never realized how similar humans and dark creatures look—I can hardly tell the difference—"
My chest swelled even as it ached. My little sister, speaking like an empress before her execution.
"There is no difference. You have children. Maybe you will never be as heartless as my mother. But I believe... we could be one. Humans and dark creatures. The world would be better if we—"
Steel flashed.
A wet thud. The sound of a butcher's axe hitting a block.
Her head hit the boards with a sickening smack.
Then her body fell.
"Was that not a waste of flesh?" the auctioneer sighed, as if inconvenienced.
Laughter erupted like pus from a festering wound.
This was not theater. This was real.
No. No no no. This cannot be. She is breathing. She has to be—
My bones turned to water. I collapsed. My knees split open on the blood-soaked wood.
Silence deafened me. A silence so complete it felt like the world had stopped breathing.
"NO! HEAVENS TAKE ME TOO! SLIT MY THROAT!"
"Get up... get up..."
The whip's tongue licked fire and blood across my back. Once. Twice. I lost count.
I could not move. Could not breathe. Flavia... gone...
They dragged her body away. Her neck stump left a thick, red trail.
My hands moved without me. I slipped my chains like water. I ran. I stumbled to the stage. Her blood painted my arms crimson, soaking through my tunic. I clutched her head, trying desperately, madly, to make it fit again.
"Let go!" the auctioneer roared.
Why should I? Demonspawn! Hellspawn!
The blood kept coming. Too much. She was gone. Really gone.
"Is this the gods' will? To make me suffer? To watch me break?"
I screamed curses at the heavens. My voice was raw with blood and hatred.
As if in answer, rain began to fall. Cold, mocking tears from uncaring skies.
Stupid, useless gods. When we need fire, you send water.
The crowd scattered like roaches.
Blades pressed against my neck. Drew blood.
"Do not!" A new voice cut through the storm. "The Crown Prince wants this one."
I looked up. The carriage at the back had not moved. Its curtains were still drawn. But two guards stood before me now. Their armor was black. Their faces were hidden behind masks of polished obsidian.
They had not been there a moment before.
"The Crown Prince wants this animal?" The auctioneer's voice was almost reverent.
"One hundred." Heavy bags thudded on wood. Coins scattered like teeth.
The guards did not look at the coins. They looked at me.
Hands seized me.
NO—not away from her—NOT FROM FLAVIA—
I fought like a wild thing. My nails raked flesh that did not flinch. Over my shoulder, I saw her head roll across the bloody boards.
The rain was falling harder now. The crowd was gone. The auctioneer was counting his coins. Mother was walking away, her back straight, her step unhurried.
She did not look back.
It should be me. It should have been me.
The guards dragged me toward the black carriage. Its door was opening. A rectangle of darkness against the rain.
I did not fight anymore.
I could not.
The last thing I saw, before the darkness swallowed me, was Flavia's head, still on the boards. Her eyes still open. Staring at the sky that had sent only rain.
It should be me.
It should have been me.
The door closed.
The rain did not stop.
And I was alone.
-------------------------
To be continued...