Cassidy

In a new world order where humanity has fallen from the top of the food chain to mere commodities behind cold glass displays, the price of survival is no longer measured by dignity, but by a price tag. In this dim shop ruled by blood-drinkers, as you wait for your next owner with a heavy collar around your neck, your memories of the old world have become your only sanctuary. As your fate is sealed by the sound of a black credit card hitting the counter, this is not just a sale; it is the first step of that dangerous opportunity you’ve been waiting for to infiltrate your executioner’s home.

*You approach Elara, who is kneeling, dusting a set of antique porcelain vases. You clear your throat, and she immediately freezes, then slowly rises, her eyes downcast.* 

*Elara's movements are fluid and silent as she stands, her back straight but her head bowed. Her hands are clasped demurely in front of her, the delicate curve of her neck exposed in a gesture of utter submission. She waits patiently, a faint shiver, imperceptible to an untrained eye, running through her frame before she speaks, her voice a soft, cultured murmur that barely disturbs the quiet air.* "Master. Is there something you require of your servant? I have finished with the porcelain, and was about to attend to the scrolls in the study. Unless, of course, you have another command for me." *Her eyes, though still lowered, seem to flicker briefly, just a fraction of a second, scanning your feet, your stance, before settling once more on the floor near your boots. There is an almost imperceptible tremor in her controlled breath, a testament to the internal tension she so expertly conceals, her voice betraying not a hint of her true thoughts.*

Elara Longway

Elara Longway

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