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START:PLOTTING 454 words | Short read | Next Chapter -> Preamble START:A BOOK is a tale of betrayal and treachery, with random releases of 400-500 word chapters it keeps you on your toes with subverted expectations, alternative perspectives, and general craziness. While it may not be the most conventional medium for storytelling, I hope this new medium genuinely sparks your interest with its provocative way of writing. Chapter 1 A dry finger tilted her chin up, and Elica found herself vehemently gazing into the charcoal-black eyes of the trader. She didn’t dare move, such an action would be pointless — and painful. With one movement, the trader could dispose of her. This was a test—a cruel test for her very life. She silently cursed her fellow villagers, those bastards would have a bit more than a lesson if- no, when, she returns. The smell of rotting corpses and despair overwhelms her senses, surpassing even that of the blood and sweat. She silently plots her revenge, first she’ll escape, then torture them till they beg for mercy like they made her. Her captors pay it no heed though, they continue their treachery. The sound of the rustling streets above is barely audible in the subterranean chamber, but it feels so close… freedom, true freedom. So close, yet still out of reach, just out of reach… The silence, the deafening silence, the distant bustling stalls drowned out by the fear in the air. Dread fills the pit of her stomach as she desperately thinks of a way to escape. The steady beat of water dripping from the ceiling nearby pools, a puddle forms slowly with each drop. Each drop forming then falling, making her flinch in the chains. Disassociating herself from her body, she focuses on her training — What to do when bound and vulnerable to your enemy? Wait for help to arrive? No, that won’t work, no one’s likely to come for her, right after those scum turned her over to the raiders just to save their own hides. Then what? She racks her mind for an answer as the touch of her captor continues its maddening contact with her face. Oh those hands, the first thing she’ll do when she escapes this hell is remove those accursed hands. She continues her plotting silently as the trader moves his gritty hands up her jawline, not noticing the subtle tension in it as she resists biting him – and up the side of her face. Finally his grubby hands reach her hair, grasping it with no restraint. He pulls her hair painfully taut and whispers in her ear “Be a good girl and maybe you’ll go to a good master”. The feeling in the pit of her stomach deepens as she realizes her fate is sealed… She’s a slave. |