Page 2 of Twisted Fangs

I dip my rag in the bucket, wringing it out with more force than necessary. "What's orange look like?" I ask, my voice tinged with curiosity.

Mari pauses her scrubbing. "Like... like the warmth of a candle, but brighter. More alive," she says with a dim sparkle in her eyes.

"Must be nice." The words come out bitter, and I immediately regret them when I see Mari's face fall.

"One day, little bird," she says, using the nickname she gave me years ago. "One day you'll see it all."

I shake my head, focusing on a particularly stubborn scuff mark. "Born in chains, die in chains. That's what they say, isn't it?" I mutter.

"Only if you believe it," she replies softly.

The sound of approaching footsteps sends us both back to our tasks, heads bowed, shoulders hunched. But Mari's words echo in my mind. Only if you believe it. As if belief alone could break iron shackles and stone walls.

Through the window, the light shifts, growing dimmer. Another sunset I'll never see. Another day of freedom I'll never know. The ache in my chest intensifies, spreading like poison through my veins.

"Stop! All of you, up!" The sharp command shatters my thoughts. A dark elf overseer claps her hands, the sound echoing off the marble. "To the baths, now!"

My knees protest as I stand. Mari grabs my arm, steadying me. The other slaves huddle together as we're herded down the corridor like cattle.

The communal bath chamber opens before us, steam rising from pools I've only glimpsed through doorways. The water shimmers with an iridescent sheen I've never seen before.

"Strip," commands the overseer. "Everything off."

Rough hands shove us into the water. It's hot—too hot—and smells of unfamiliar flowers. Dark elf attendants descend on us with brushes and soaps, scrubbing until our skin turns pink and raw.

"What's happening?" I whisper to Mari as an attendant yanks through my tangled hair.

"Quiet!" the attendant hisses. The brush pulls harder, making my eyes water.

They drag us out and dry us with soft cloths—softer than anything I've touched before. White dresses appear, flowing things that make my usual rags look like burlap. The material brushes against my skin as they force it over my head.

"Hold still," another attendant snaps, weaving white flowers into my damp hair. The petals tickle my forehead. Next to me, Mari trembles as they do the same to her.

"This isn't good," she breathes, so quietly I barely hear her. "White dresses and flowers... they're preparing us for something."

My stomach knots. In all my years of slavery, I've never seen anything like this. The dark elves never waste such finery on slaves unless?—

Another bell tolls somewhere in the mansion, deep and ominous. The overseers straighten, their red eyes gleaming with something that makes my blood run cold.

"Line up," they command. "It's time."

2

VALEN

Blood pools beneath my boots, seeping through ancient stone. My sisters' screams pierce the night, but my legs won't move. I'm forced to watch, trapped in this cursed memory as dark elf blades flash in the torchlight.

"Valen, help us!" my mother pleads as she reaches for me, her fingers stretching across the great hall. The dark elf behind her grins, ears twitching with pleasure as he draws his blade across her throat.

"No!" My voice cracks. "Stop this!" But I'm just a ghost here, reliving this nightmare for the thousandth time.

My father fights like the lord he is, his sword claiming three lives before they overwhelm him. They don't grant him a quick death. They want him to watch as they slaughter the children.

The marble floor turns crimson. Bodies of my kin – warriors, healers, children – pile up like cordwood. The metallic stench of blood mingles with smoke as they torch our ancestral home.

"I'll kill you all," I whisper, but the words catch in my throat as I spot my youngest sister. She's trying to hide behind a tapestry, small fingers clutching the fabric. A dark elf yanks her out by her hair.

My body convulses. The dream shatters.

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