“One hundred seventy rounas!”

A crackling voice called out from the bustling crowd. The obese merchant was determined to win this lot no matter what.

“One seventy-five!”

Retorted another, sharper and with a hint of smugness. This elderly gentleman was just as unrelenting.

It is not every day that you get to witness a half-humanoid elm in the slave auction. Those were rare. He was looking forward to stumbling upon one, so this occasion was quite a lucky encounter for him.

The female elm on the stage had fiery orange hair flowing with volume. The child had two foxy ears that matched her hair in color, protruding from the top of her head. Her eyes were captivating, with a bright orange hue that seemed to glow with an inner light.

Her expression was somewhat reserved but intense. She was seated on the ground, wearing a tattered, sleeveless dress and shackled at the wrists.

“Two hundred!”

His competitor, the fat merchant, shot him an annoyed glare from the other corner of the stage. The tension between them was palpable, each refusing to back down.

“Add another fifty!”

The gentleman raised his voice, the shout reverberating through the room. He wouldn’t fall for this cheap bluff.

The obese man clenched his teeth and slammed his cane against the wooden floor. His face reddened from fury.

“Two hundred fifty going once…”

“Two hundred fifty going for two…”

‘What is happening?’

Fatma couldn’t help but ponder.

“Two hundred fifty going fo-”

“Two hundred eighty!!”

The man bellowed, his belly pulsating from the intensity of his voice.

Fatma observed her surroundings. There were many people, most clad in hoods and masks. She then looked at the bidders and then at her hands.

‘This is not my body!’

Her hands were small, and her skin was porcelain white.

Fatma gasped. She was internally shocked, yet didn’t have enough energy to express it outwardly. Her body was filled with tranquilizers - a drug that calmed, soothed, and reduced stress and tension.

‘Am I being sold? Just what is happening?’

Despite the drug’s effects, she still held on to her clarity and mind. Her last memories were of losing consciousness while infusing her soul with the seed of evil.

‘That’s right! The seed!’

That was the most likely reason for her current predicament. She had blindly trusted the deity, whom she presumed to be Damian. What happened to her awakening? She was in the midst of advancing. No, what happened to her body?

“Sold for the mister with the highest bid of two hundred eighty!”

The auctioneer declared, his voice surging with excitement. He never expected the elm to fetch twice its anticipated price. His joyful shout broke Fatma’s train of thought.

She felt a sudden pressure on her neck, a sharp tug at her collar yanking her forward. The unexpected force drew a gasp from her, the choker digging into her skin. Wincing from the pain, she shot to her feet and followed the shirtless man who exuded the aura of a bandit.

Reluctantly, she continued following him as he turned and started walking with a confident swagger. The young elm’s instincts told her to be wary, but the urgency in his movements left no room for hesitation.

Fatma wanted to inspect her situation. She wanted to ask the man some questions while they were headed in some direction. Yet, she couldn’t talk. She also didn’t know the language these people spoke.

Still, she knew her situation was dire. From her uncle’s words, the slaves bought by the Yan clan were usually sent to work in mines or farms. They were often overworked to death. She was also told that those slaves were past criminals.

‘Just what kind of crime could this little girl have committed?’

She had no idea what was happening, yet she was no longer as innocent as she was in the past. The past months had taught her a lot. While she meditated, she reflected on herself. Fatma had had lots of time to focus on her inner self.

Now, she fully delegated her attention to the situation at hand.

‘I need to find a way to communicate. That is of the utmost importance. I don’t know where I am… or what world I am in. Escaping is too risky. It will also surely lead to a severe punishment if I’m caught.’

Cold reverberated through her small feet with each step she took. Her small and frail body was weakened, barely capable of any movement. Yet, she was way too used to physical pain. This kind of discomfort was nothing compared to the hell Hakan had shown her.

‘Damian used to say that most problems can be solved by communication. I think he’s right. Well, that’s the least I can do at the moment. There are no inescapable situations, only unescapable circumstances.’

Deep inside, she was in deep panic. The thought that she would never be able to return to her original body was hovering around her suppressed mind.

Fatma sighed deeply, trying her best to focus on the present.

While she was contemplating, the burly man halted his steps. Fatma raised her head as she saw that they were in a dimly lit room.

There were two people beside her and the shirtless man - the auctioneer and the obese merchant.

----------------------------------------

What are they blabbering on about? I don’t understand. The fatty keeps screaming at these two. Don’t tell me… he’s spent way past his budget on me. Seems so. Ahhh… I’m so fucked. I’m sure I’ll be overworked.

He looks rich, though. Why would he spend his fortune on a little girl like me? Fuck. I should have learned more about the outside world and taken a step outside the castle.

Looking at the furniture and the people’s clothing, it’s not much different from ours, though the design is different. Obviously, they would have different traditions. There is a chance that I’m still on Origin, though there are infinitely many other planets with life… Bah. Let’s not think about bad stuff. Come on, Fatma, concentrate!

I silently stare as the fat and scrawny man bicker.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Yup! Can’t understand a damn thing. Just what am I supposed to do? Learn the language!? I’m not Damian, for fuck’s sake. Argh! So annoying! I can’t intervene in any way. Nothing comes to my mind.

Wait! Stop thinking! Just focus on their conversation. Yes, I’ll pick up a few important words here and there. They’ll come in handy. Step by step. Step by step…

Oh, that fatty is going to eat up this poor guy with his gaze. He’s really angry. Pfft! He would look intimidating if he didn’t have that funny stomach. Seriously, what is with the men thinking that some hair on their faces can fix their ugly appearance? Bhaha! No! What am I thinking? Focus! Fatma, focus!

I blink a few times in an attempt to concentrate on these men fully. Suddenly, the fat uncle shifts his gnarly gaze at me. He scrutinizes my body as his expression softens.

Um… do I perhaps have some hidden talent? I’m not as worthless as I think, huh? I have some foxy ears. Now that I think of it, my ability to hear is way better than when I was a human. Perhaps they are rare. Am I going to be groomed as a spy in some underground shady organization? That sounds epic! Wait, no. I need to get home!

Oh, I can also smell better. My smelling ability is amplified. Hmm, yeah. I can definitely smell garbage. That fatty doesn’t bathe, does he? Perhaps I have many other superpowers!

The burly guy hands the leash of my collar to the uncle. I really hate this thing. Do they think I will run the moment there’s an opportunity to? That’s depressing. They treat me like a dog! Should I just woof? Only if I could run like a dog…

Oh, we’re on the move again. Where do we go? I wonder what the outside looks like.

As we pass the corridors, I can see many other slaves entrapped in cages with chains and collars all around their bodies. They all have slumped postures, which gives an impression of fatigue and defeat.

There are people with different skin colors, genders, sizes, ages, and body parts. Wow, it’s as if they’re collecting menageries. Still, they all have one thing in common - their distressed, sorrowful, and gloomy expressions. They are all grim.

I’m just like them - always sad. My life really sucks. Whenever I’m getting ahold of something, it slips away from my hands. But I know one little trick that solves the problem to some extent.

I smile. When you’re sad and continue being sad, you get overwhelmed by it. My mother was always smiling. But once she stopped, a few days later, she died. So, I know. As long as I smile, laugh, and be positive, my spirit will never die!

It’s okay if people hate and distance themselves from me. Maybe not so okay. But I become happy just by seeing them smile. Evil spreads. But kindness also spreads.

I try to spread my smile. People think I’m stupid and look at me with contempt. Some think I’m a clown. Some think I’m fake. Some, on the other hand, pity me. Yet I hate their pity more than their contemptuous gaze. It’s as if I’m pathetic, which I’m not! I’m strong!

Sometimes, I can’t suppress my sadness. At night, while alone, I always cry. To be honest, I crave attention and other people’s love. Only if there were a person to understand me. Only if there were someone to understand my pain…

But how foolish of me. From the very beginning, that person was always with me. While with Damian, I’ve never been sad or lonely. With him, I always smile genuinely. With him, I always laugh - genuinely.

I was just looking for more when I already had enough. Only after losing him did I feel true loneliness. He said that one has to be used to aloneness, or they’ll never get rid of loneliness. But that’s bullshit. By focusing solely on yourself, you get lost - lost in a world full of people.

He’s just a stupid kid… or a god. He fears himself and, instead of seeking help, tries to stand up alone. I don’t care what he becomes as I know who he is at heart. Damian will stumble, but I will never let him fall.

He is my happiness, and if he is unhappy, so am I. Define yourself… hah. His head is full of crap. Humans are simply too complex to be defined by a single word. After all, he’s just a kid - a kid at heart and body. He is my family, and I’ll protect him, no matter what. I have promised.

As I follow the fatty, we slowly arrive at a grand door. He pushes it open, and I’m momentarily blinded by a brilliant light. Above, a large red orb dominates the sky - far larger and more mesmerizing than any sun I've seen before.

While my eyes adjust, I see a carriage waiting. It's drawn by a pair of thin, almost frail horses, their sides heaving. This fatty sure eats a lot, yet can’t look after these poor animals. What a jerk.

The carriage door creakes open. With a push of a leash, I step inside. The cushions are worn, and the fabric faded and frayed at the edges, speaking of long years of use and little money for replacements.

I settle into the corner. The man climbs in opposite me, his bulk causing the carriage to shift on its axles. He pulls the door shut with a definitive thud.

As the carriage lurches forward, the scrawny horses strain against their harnesses, their ribs showing through their patchy coats. The ride is bumpy, the wheels struggling over ruts and stones.

I feel my very essence shaking while we are on our way. The uncle remains unmoved, staring at my shaking and jumpy figure. Do I look funny to you? You pig!

Fields overgrown with weeds and fences in disrepair pass by slowly. The house finally comes into view, its peeling paint and broken shutters barely hidden. The garden is now a wild tangle of plants.

This guy looked rich, yet he’s poor! He's so poor that he’ll even start to lose weight soon enough. Or not. Yeah, that’s unlikely.

As the carriage rattles to a stop, the heavy door swings open, revealing the stooped figure of an old maid. With a nod, she welcomes us. The maid then leads me down a long, dimly lit hallway, our steps echoing on the wooden floor.

Opening the doors to a surprisingly grand room, the granny takes me inside. The large four-poster bed is draped with heavy fabrics, now slightly sun-bleached. A large wooden bathtub, already filled with steaming water that carries a faint scent of flowers, stands beside the bed. Hell yeah! Don’t tell me he’s adopting me as a daughter. I thought I’d live in some basement and starve.

The maid points toward the bath. I nod. The maid slowly takes off my collar with waryness. Finally, that dog collar is off! She helps me take out my clothes and puts me into a warm bath. The water envelopes me soothingly, the floral scents helping to ease the tension from tranquilizers. While I bathe, the maid lays out a dress of soft fabric.

Ahh, this is heaven. For a moment, I forget about my predicament. That’s right, I can’t do much at the moment. Why not enjoy the bath? I’ve suffered for the past three months and deserve some rest…

After the bath, the maid pats me with a dry towel and helps me into the dress. It fits perfectly, as if it had been waiting for me. Then, the maid combs through my hair with an ivory-handled brush, the strokes gentle.

Once I am dressed and feeling renewed, the maid leads me to a small dining table by the room's large window. There, light filters through curtains, fluttering in a gentle breeze. There, she serves me a simple yet hearty bowl of warm soup and a slice of apple pie for dessert.

As I eat, the maid slowly leaves the room. I am left alone. How great, privacy is what I like the most. The food is delicious. I have been feeling like a living corpse before, but the food makes me feel reinvigorated.

I forget about all my troubles. Life is shit, yet at times, it’s beautiful. It’s such moments that prove it. Having no expectations whatsoever, I, for once, got lucky. The chubby uncle is not as heartless as he seemed to be.

As I finish my food, I slowly walk toward the bed and lie in the corner, staring at the ceiling.

But something… feels strange.

…

With my body, that is.

…

Simply put, I feel overly energetic for some weird reason. My breath intensifies, and my cheeks redden. I can hear my heartbeat rising, and its intensity only heightens with each passing minute. I can really feel it, not just a gentle thud but a pounding force that seems to shake my very core.

…

My senses feel heightened, every sound more distinct, every touch more pronounced. There is an unusual tingling sensation that courses through my veins. My mouth becomes unexpectedly moist, my tongue grazing against my teeth as if anticipating a taste yet unknown.

…

Odd. Is this body reacting in some new way? I feel an undeniable sense of well-being, a strange vitality that makes even the air seem more delicious.

…

This sensation is bizarre, unlike anything I have known. Is it simply a time of growth or something else? Surely, this isn’t an illness; it feels too invigorating to be a sickness.

…

Hmm… how old is this body of mine? Around twelve, perhaps. Strange, truly strange…

…

Suddenly, the doors creak open.

It is probably the maid.

Yet, the footsteps are heavier. Another servant?

…

I watch the ceiling.

The footsteps are getting closer.

I blink my eyes, shutting them deep to regain my focus.

…

I’m feeling unexplainable dread, and soon, I become enamored with it. I’m excited and erratic, yet frantic and crazed. What is happening? I… I think… think what?

…

The footsteps are nearing.

…

I smell something sweaty and hear a wobble.

Then, I open them - my eyes.

There is something above my head, dangling.

It is a breath away from my face. This thing, what exactly is this?