3. Geneva

3

GENEVA

I jolt awake, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird. Sunlight streams through the small window, painting patterns on the worn floorboards. For a moment, I'm disoriented, the remnants of a vivid dream clinging to my consciousness.

"What in the..." I mutter, rubbing my eyes. The events of last night flood back, a whirlwind of candlelight, strange symbols, and... a demon? No, that can't be right.

I sit up, my thin blanket pooling around my waist. The familiar sight of my sparse room greets me—the rickety dresser, the cracked mirror, the pile of mending in the corner. Everything's as it should be, no trace of arcane rituals or otherworldly visitors.

"Get a grip, Geneva," I chide myself. "Demons? Really?"

But as I shift, something hard presses against my leg. My breath catches as I reach under the covers, fingers closing around three small, cool objects. Crystals. The demon's crystals.

"Oh, no," I whisper, staring at the glittering stones in my palm. "It wasn't a dream."

The reality of what I've done—what I've agreed to do—hits me like a punch to the gut. I've made a deal with a demon. To save my own skin, I've promised to trap three souls. The weight of it settles on my shoulders, heavy as chains.

"Did he even tell me his name?" I wonder aloud, trying to recall the details of our encounter.

The demon's form in my memory is a blur of darkness and power, his voice a rumble that seemed to vibrate through my very bones. But a name? No, I realize with a start. He never gave me one.

"Do demons even have names?" I muse, turning the crystals over in my hand. The thought of addressing him as 'hey you' or 'Mr. Demon' almost makes me laugh, despite the gravity of my situation.

A sharp knock at the door makes me jump. I hastily shove the crystals back under my pillow.

"Geneva!" Miss Pickett's shrill voice pierces through the wood. "Up and at 'em, girl! Your big day's finally here!"

My stomach lurches. Right. My eighteenth birthday. The day I'm to be sold off like prized livestock.

"Coming, Miss Pickett!" I call back, my voice steadier than I feel.

As I jump out of bed and try to make myself look somewhat put together, Miss Pickett bursts into the room anyway.

Her eyes are gleaming with an unsettling excitement. I barely have time to smooth down my sleep-mussed hair before she's upon me, yanking me close. I can smell the disgusting perfume she loves, and how the stench clings to every thread of her big blue dress.

"Come now, Geneva," she chirps, her bony fingers digging into my arm. "Today's the day you've been waiting for!"

I bite back a retort. Waiting for? More like dreading. "Miss Pickett, I?—"

"Hush," she cuts me off, already rifling through my meager wardrobe. "No time for chatter. We need to make you presentable."

She pulls out a dress I've never seen before—all gossamer and lace, leaving little to the imagination. My stomach churns.

"I can't wear that," I protest weakly.

Miss Pickett clicks her tongue. "Nonsense. You should be grateful. Do you know how many girls would kill for this opportunity?"

"To be sold away?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

Her hand cracks across my cheek, the sting sharp and sudden. "Ungrateful wretch," she hisses. "Do you know how much I've invested in you? How much coin this will bring?"

I stand there, stunned, as she roughly strips me of my nightgown and forces the new dress over my head. The fabric clings to my skin, making me feel naked and exposed.

"Now," Miss Pickett says, her voice fraudulently sweet once more. "Remember what I've taught you. Silent and submissive. That's what the dark elves want. Human women live to please the dark elves."

She circles me, adjusting the dress here and there.

"Eyes down. Smile demure. And for the love of everything you know, don't speak unless spoken to." She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Once you're in a dark elf's possession, I can't guarantee the punishments that await you if you disobey your master."

I nod mechanically, my mind racing. The crystals. I need the crystals.

"Miss Pickett," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Might I... might I have a moment? To compose myself?"

She narrows her eyes, suspicious. "Make it quick."

The second she steps out, I dive for my pillow, fumbling for the crystals. My fingers close around them just as Miss Pickett's impatient voice sounds from the hallway.

"Geneva! We haven't got all day!"

I slip the crystals into a hidden pocket in the dress, breathing a sigh of relief. Whatever happens next, at least I have this small piece of hope. As I emerge into the hallway, bidding farewell to the small, rickety bedroom that has been mine for so long, Miss Pickett lets out a small hum.

"Finally," she mumbles.

Her bony fingers dig into my arm as she drags me down the hallway. The gauzy fabric of my new dress whispers against my skin, a constant reminder of what's to come. We stop in front of a heavy wooden door, and she turns to me with a saccharine smile that is almost nauseating to look at.

"Remember, girl. Silent and submissive," she hisses, then throws open the door.

The room beyond is a flurry of activity. Two other young women stand on raised platforms, surrounded by a whirlwind of fabric and fussing attendants. Their eyes meet mine, wide with a fear that I'm sure mirrors my own.

"Julia! Margaret!" Miss Pickett barks, and both girls flinch. "This is Geneva. She'll be joining you today."

She shoves me toward an empty platform, and I stumble, barely catching myself before I fall. As I step up, I get a better look at my companions in misery.

Julia, a willowy blonde with haunted blue eyes, offers me a trembling smile. Margaret, shorter and curvier with a riot of red curls, just nods, her jaw clenched tight.

"Now, ladies," Miss Pickett continues, pacing between us. "You've been prepared for this day your entire lives. You will bring honor to this establishment and pleasure to your new masters. We have a reputation to uphold and I refuse to let a little wench ruin what I've worked so hard to build."

Her words make my skin crawl. I want to scream, to run, to do anything but stand here like an animal being readied for slaughter. But the weight of the crystals in my hidden pocket reminds me that I have a plan. I just need to bide my time.

An attendant approaches me, arms laden with cosmetics and hair accessories. As she begins to work, I catch Julia's eye again. She mouths something that looks like "help," and my heart breaks. I wish I could tell her it'll be okay, that we'll find a way out of this. But Miss Pickett's watchful gaze keeps me silent.

Margaret, on my other side, stands rigid as a statue as her attendant fusses with her hair. Her green eyes blaze with defiance, and for a moment, I wonder if she might actually try to make a run for it.

"Stand up straighter, Margaret. Keep standing like that and you'll make your back crooked!" Miss Pickett snaps. "And no one wants a broken, slouching slave."

Margaret's shoulders tense, but she complies. As she shifts, I notice a small bulge in her bodice. My eyes widen. Could she have managed to smuggle something in as well?

The room falls into a tense silence, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the occasional sharp command from Miss Pickett. Time seems to stretch endlessly as we're primped and polished like prized possessions.

Finally, Miss Pickett claps her hands. "Excellent. You'll do nicely." She turns to the door. "I'll fetch the transportation. Don't you dare move a muscle."

The moment she's gone, Julia lets out a choked sob. Margaret reaches out, grasping her hand tightly. I step down from my platform, moving closer to them both.

"We're in this together," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Whatever happens, I'm sure we'll be okay."

Margaret nods firmly, while Julia wipes away a tear. For a brief moment, we're united in our shared predicament, three souls against the world.

Then Miss Pickett's voice echoes down the hall, and we spring apart, resuming our poses like good little dolls. My stomach lurches at the thought of a dark elf owning me, running his disgusting hands over my skin.

But then, the demon's instructions echo in my mind. And I'm reminded of what I have to do. What I need to do in order to escape this life of servitude.

Capture three souls. Three lives for my freedom. And I'm willing to pay that price if it means escaping the clutches of the dark elves.