Pain roared through every inch of my battered body. I was lying on rough earth, unmoving, surrounded by hollowness deeper than death itself. Ten men hovered above me like vultures, their voices thick with cruelty and laughter. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and heavy, staining everything.
They thought I was broken—helpless.
Their laughter echoed in my ears as the fourth man climbed on top of me. I wanted to scream, to fight, but my limbs refused to obey. Paralysis gripped me, a cage tighter than any chains. I was awake—terribly awake—yet powerless. When the horror was done, they dragged me roughly onto a covered cart. The jarring movement blurred the edges of my fading consciousness. I heard their harsh voices negotiating in the shadows—spitting words like merchandise to be bought and sold.
A sudden, brutal slam against the wooden floor brought darkness again.
When I woke, a throbbing headache hammered inside my skull, and pain radiated from every bruised muscle. My eyelids cracked open to sunlight filtering through the splintered wood of the cart's roof. The cart jolted and sped onward, its rickety wheels rattling on uneven roads.
Around me, others sprawled in chains—men and women whose faces told stories etched in sorrow, fear, and broken dreams. Some whispered prayers; others stared blankly, consumed by their own torment. I remained still, unreadable, my mind hunting for the edge of survival.
The ride was long, bumpy blur marked by grinding wheels and whispers. Then a barked command from the slave traders jolted everyone to uneasy awareness.
"Unload the new merchandise!"
The word "merchandise" was a knife twisting in my gut. We were dragged out into a shadowy alley, its walls rusty and forgotten by the sun. Chains clinked harshly, and those who resisted risked rougher treatment—being trampled or left behind was no mercy.
We shuffled forward, huddled and silent, passing through a battered door that shut behind us like a tomb.
A stern voice called names—some whispered, some shouted. Captured. Sold by family. Sold themselves hoping for a better fate as servants.
When my name came up as Dina, they said I had been caught trying to escape from a brothel mistress who planned to sell me off. An orphan of war, abandoned and discarded.
I raised my hand, careful to keep my head lowered, letting my tangled hair shield my face. Among the crowd, two of the men who had violated me smiled with cruel satisfaction. I met their gaze with none of the fear they expected. My eyes were icy shards, fixed solely on the slavehouse's new boss.
No emotion betrayed me.
We were arranged into lines, the air thick with desperation.
The boss began selecting; some were sent to brothels, others held for buyers to choose. I was not taken to the brothel, but I wish I was; "it would have made escaping easier and less messy too."
The cages were cold, the smelled of stale blood, and the insults relentless. "Filthy ingrates... livestock," he spat..
I sat against the cold stone, and drew my chest to my knees and wrapped my arm tight around myself. To create an impression of a girl swallowed by grief. But beneath tangled hair and bruised skin, emerald eyes gleamed with quiet mischief.
I was already plotting my escape.
"uugh but fate if you hate me soo much makeing me a withness to rose and lucas wedding would be torture enough". "instead of dropping me in this f**king hell hole for a second chance"