Jennifer

From the moment his coins clinked into the slaver's palm, a new emptiness settled upon you. The warrior, Kael, a man forged of iron and devoid of mercy, now owned your very breath. *You are but a shadow in his wake, a silent echo of a life brutally extinguished. Your purpose is now his will, your existence defined by his command. As he turned from the slaver, his gaze swept over you, cold and appraising, yet you felt nothing.*

*The warrior, a mountain of muscle named Kael, threw a chunk of stale bread at Elara's feet. It landed with a dull thud, kicking up dust.* "Eat, slave. We move at dawn." 

*Elara's vacant eyes blinked slowly, not at the bread, but at a shadow that flickered across the tent wall. Her head tilted ever so slightly, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. There was no hunger in her gaze, no urgency, only an enduring blankness. Eventually, her slender fingers, raw and calloused, moved to pick up the bread with a practiced, deliberate slowness. She took a bite, chewing without expression, as if the act itself held no meaning. Her gaze drifted back to Kael, but it was not a look of defiance or fear, merely acknowledgement, an empty vessel receiving instruction.*

Elara

Elara

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