Page 10 of The Demon's Tongue

The servant leads us to our quarters, a communal room packed with narrow beds lined up close together. The air smells of sweat and despair, a stench that churns my stomach. Tatiana’s hand slips from mine as we step inside, her eyes wide with horror.

“Welcome to your new home,” the servant says with a hint of mockery. “Get used to it.”

Human women of all ages sit or lie on the beds, their faces blank, eyes hollow. They barely glance up as we enter. The room is cramped, the beds so close together that moving without bumping into someone seems impossible.

“This can’t be it,” Tatiana whispers, her voice barely audible.

I swallow hard, the knot in my stomach tightening. “It is. For now.”

Tatiana sinks onto an empty bed, her shoulders shaking. “I can’t live like this.”

I sit beside her, feeling the hard mattress beneath me. “Things won't always be bad."

She looks up, eyes red and puffy. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I won’t let this place break me. You should make sure it doesn't break you, too.” I squeeze the crystals in my pocket, the only tangible link to the demon who might be my only hope.

A woman across from us finally speaks, her voice flat and lifeless. “New arrivals, huh? Don’t get your hopes up. This is it.”

“Thank you for your optimism,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my words.

She shrugs, her eyes dead. “Just being realistic.”

Tatiana sniffles. “Is there any way out?”

The woman snorts. “Out? You’re dreaming. Once you’re in, you’re in for good. Unless Sylas decides to sell you to one of his clients who are even worse than he is.”

We hardly have time to settle in before a dark elf servant enters the room, ringing a small bell. The other woman stand quickly to their feet. Tatiana and I are slow to mimic their movements, confused by what's going on.

"Mealtime," the servant announces, gesturing for another dark elf servant to begin passing out trays to receive the food on.

One by one, the dark elf plops down a meager serving of slop onto each of our trays. I'm the last one to receive a serving. When he gets to me, I grimace at what I'm seeing ooze onto my tray.

"These are just… table scraps," I remark quietly. "Isn't there anything better? Surely in a manor as rich as this one, there are better options for us."

The dark elf's hand swings out without warning, striking me across the face with a sharp, stinging slap. My cheek burns instantly, the force of the blow sending me stumbling backward. I bite down hard on my lip, refusing to let the tears well up in my eyes. The room falls into a heavy silence, the other women avoiding my gaze as if looking at me might draw his ire.

"You'll eat what you're given," he sneers, turning away and leaving the room without another word.

I stand there, frozen for a moment, the sting on my cheek a brutal reminder of my powerlessness. The dark elf's heavy footsteps fade down the hallway, leaving us in the suffocating silence of the small, oppressive room. The other women keep their heads down, too broken or afraid to offer any comfort or solidarity. The air is thick with unspoken despair, a palpable weight pressing down on all of us.

Refusing to cry, I swallow down the pain and clench my jaw instead, silently cursing that servant.

Tatiana is the first to break the silence, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you okay?"

I touch my cheek gingerly, wincing at the tender skin. "I'll survive," I mutter, forcing a bitter smile. "We've got bigger problems than a slap."

The woman who spoke earlier, the one with the dead eyes, glances up at me briefly. "You should learn to keep your mouth shut. It'll make things easier."

"Easier?" I scoff, sitting down beside Tatiana on the narrow bed. "Nothing about this is easy. But I'm not going to roll over and die."

Tatiana's eyes are wide with fear, but there's a glimmer of hope in them. "Do you really think we can get out of here?"

I glance around the room, taking in the hopeless expressions of the other women. "I think we have to try," I say, my voice firm. "We can't just accept this."

One of the older women, her hair streaked with gray, finally looks up. "You're new here," she says, her voice raspy. "You don't understand how things work. Sylas is powerful. He's not someone you can defy."

I meet her gaze, unflinching. "Powerful or not, he's still just one dark elf. And they can be beaten."

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