7. Geneva

7

GENEVA

B y the time I'm done in the kitchens, my hands are sore and my back aches from being hunched over the whole time. But I'm finished. The day is done.

"Calix had the chance to help me out and he didn't," I mumble bitterly to myself, wringing my aching hands together. "Are all demons as thoughtless as he is? I'm not sure."

Making my way back to the quarters, my stomach growls, but I'm not eager for dinner. It'll be another tray full of beige slop that I'm supposed to call food and be grateful for.

Dinnertime happens in one of the spare dining rooms within the manor, with long dark tables cramped together to seat us all. At least we get to sit this time around.

I shuffle into the cramped room, my nose wrinkling at the stench of unwashed bodies and stale air. The other women are already seated on their beds, their eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. It's like walking into a room full of ghosts.

"Move it," a gruff voice barks from behind me. I stumble forward, nearly tripping over my own feet.

Finding an empty spot at the end of a long table, I slide onto the bench. The sight of the food in front of me does nothing to stir my appetite.

"What is this supposed to be?" I mutter, poking at the gray, lumpy mass on my plate.

The woman next to me, her face gaunt and eyes hollow, whispers, "It's best not to ask. Just eat it and be grateful."

I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but the sound dies in my throat as I look around. The difference between our meager meal and the opulence of the manor is stark. Crystal chandeliers hang above us, their light catching on plates that hold nothing but scraps.

"Hey." I nudge the woman next to me. "I'm Geneva. What's your name?"

She flinches at my touch, her eyes darting around nervously. "Lila," she whispers, so softly I can barely hear her.

"Nice to meet you, Lila," I say, trying to inject some warmth into my voice. "How long have you been here?"

Lila's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "Three years," she says, her voice hollow. "But it feels like a lifetime."

A chill runs down my spine. Three years in this place? I can't imagine surviving that long. I'm already tired and it's only been a few days.

"Quiet down there!" a dark elf servant shouts from across the room. "No talking during meals!"

I clamp my mouth shut, but my mind races. There has to be a way out of this. I think of the crystals hidden in my dress, of Calix and his deal. It's a lifeline, no matter how thin.

As I force down another spoonful of the tasteless mush, I wonder what Calix is doing right now. Is he watching? Apparently, he has the ability to do so, but none of us would be able to realize that. Does he care at all about what's happening to me?

Of course not , I think bitterly to myself. He's a demon. Why would he care about me?

After dinner, Sylas' dark elf servants herd us towards the showers like animals. Their eyes linger on each of us, probably waiting for any excuse to slap us or berate us for doing something wrong. I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Any day now, human," one of them snarls, shoving me forward.

I stumble, catching myself on the slick tile floor. The shower room is large, but with so many of us crammed in here, it feels claustrophobic. Steam rises, clouding the air and fogging up the mirrors.

"Five minutes," a servant barks. "Make it quick."

I strip off my grimy clothes, tossing them into a heap on the floor. The crystals are enclosed in my palm, safe from the water. The water sputters to life, lukewarm at best. But it's something. I close my eyes, letting it wash over me, imagining it could cleanse more than just my skin.

As I scrub myself down, my mind wanders. I think of Calix, of his piercing red eyes and that infuriating smirk. What game is he playing? And more importantly, how do I win it?

"Time's up!" The servant's voice cuts through my thoughts, shrill and annoying. I think of Miss Pickett and how she would let us go days without showering if we made her too angry.

I grab a threadbare towel, quickly drying off. My brief moment is peace is interrupted by Derina, one of the dark elf servants who loves to pick on me for any little reason.

She grabs me by the arm, which makes me stumble forward. I grimace, hoping the crystals don't fall out of my grasp. If they do, I'm as good as dead.

"Come along, girl. We need to get you dressed."

"What?" I ask. "What for? I had clothes over there?—"

"Stop asking questions."

Derina's grip on my arm tightens as she drags me down unfamiliar corridors.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice echoing off the ornate walls.

Silence. Derina's face remains impassive, her eyes fixed ahead.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" I scrunch up my nose. "Or did your ears suddenly stop working?"

Still nothing. Great.

We stop in front of an intricately carved wooden door. Derina pushes it open, revealing a bedroom that's definitely not mine. The opulence is jarring after days of sleeping in cramped quarters.

"Whose room is this?" I ask, stepping inside. The plush carpet sinks beneath my feet. "What's going on?"

Derina bustles around the room, pulling items from an ornate wardrobe. Her silence is maddening.

"Fine, don't answer. See if I care," I mutter, crossing my arms. Maybe I can steal her soul with one of these crystals. I wouldn't mind that at all.

The only problem is that I have no fucking idea how to do that, which is a shame.

She approaches with a bundle of fabric that looks more expensive than anything I've ever touched. I take a step back.

"Oh no, I'm not wearing that. Where are my clothes?"

Derina's eyes narrow. She gestures impatiently at the garments.

"Nope. Not happening. I want my old clothes back."

Swiftly, Derina's hand lashes out, catching me across the cheek. The sting brings tears to my eyes. "Stupid girl. Stop asking questions."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

As Derina helps me into the outfit, I can't help but feel like a doll being dressed up for someone else's amusement. The fabric is soft against my skin, but it leaves little to the imagination. My stomach churns with dread.

"Can you at least tell me why I'm wearing this?" I ask, tugging at the low neckline.

Derina's lips twitch, almost like she's fighting a smile. But then her face smooths back into that infuriating mask of indifference.

I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror and barely recognize the girl staring back. The dress, if you can call it that, clings to every curve. It's a far cry from the shapeless sacks we usually wear.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter, turning away from my reflection.

The door swings open with a creak, and my heart leaps into my throat. Sylas stands there, his white hair gleaming in the dim light. His eyes, cold and calculating, sweep over me, and I fight the urge to cover myself.

"Well, well," he drawls, a smirk playing on his lips. "Don't you clean up nicely?"

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. The crystals dig deeper into my skin, as well.

Sylas steps further into the room, his presence filling the space. "You have your first customer, my dear. Aren't you excited?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stumble back, shaking my head. "No. No, I won't do it."

He laughs, the sound harsh and grating. "Oh, but you will. You don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," I spit, my voice trembling despite my efforts to keep it steady.

Sylas' eyes narrow. "Not for you. Not anymore." He reaches out, fingers grazing my cheek. I flinch away, but he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You're mine now, remember? And I say you have a customer waiting."

I wrench away from his grip, my skin crawling. "I'd rather die."

"That can be arranged," he says, his voice dangerously soft. "But I think you'll find life much more... pleasant if you cooperate."

My mind races, searching for a way out. The crystals hidden in my palm seem to burn against my skin, a reminder of the deal I made. But how can I use them? I don't even know how they work.

"Please," I whisper, hating the desperation in my voice. "Don't make me do this."

Sylas' face softens, but his eyes remain cold. "My dear, this is what you were bought for. It's time you earn your keep."

He turns to leave, and panic claws at my throat. "Wait!" I call out. "I... I can't. I don't know how to..."

He pauses at the door, looking back with a cruel smile. "Don't worry. Your customer will teach you everything you need to know."

The door closes behind him with a final click, leaving me alone with my fear and the sickening realization of what's about to happen.