CW:
Awnya POV, then Lyra POV. Violence, kidnapping, slavering, implications of sexual assault happening, flashbacks from another's past.
Thendra holds me close as she tears the wrist bindings free. Then shoves me at the door that had shut itself just as she rose and pulled me to stand.
Whistling a quick song of healing as I grab at the door’s handles, ignoring the big cunt as I give them a good jerk. It doesn’t budge, and I feel her at my back.
I twist around, growling and hissing a song of–
A thick tome slams into my chest. Hard enough to knock the wind from me and cut off the song. The journal of Ovellen. Last piece of the puzzle to save my Tretion from her decade of imprisonment.
I wince at how I’d so easily almost forgot the book as I turn to stare up at Thendra. She’s holding out another bag, a sack of… My trinkets, the… the ones Lyra must have pulled off after she captured me?
I snatch them away, reach back to grip the handle and try to open the big heavy doors. They move this time. And Thendra just… nods, and turns from me. Begins to walk back up into her manor.
“That’s it!?!” I shout. “You… you’re not going out to find her? To help her!?!”
Thendra pauses to glance at me over her shoulder, a smirk on her lips her only reply. Then she disappears into the depths of this horrid place.
Mind scrambling I cast her from my mind and take stock. Daggers gone, stave is… Dreamer’s Tits I’m not even going to think about where that dropped. Need to… ARG! I have to go back to Tretion! Drop off the book. Maybe… maybe get another set of… of…
I clutch my tome close, step out into the rank morning winds, and weave a quick song of hiding amidst a Riftwalking song to take me home.
Please don’t be too late. Please. PLEASE still be alive!!!
The manor rumbles greetings of such relief at my arrival, and it’s not until I find Tretion and Nelops weeping by the gateway that I know something’s wrong.
My lover's eyes are wide with such joy and relief and sadness as they stumble into my arms.
“You– you’re okay!” Tretion sobs, barely coherent in a way I've never seen before. “I… I thought… because she… she dropped you dagger and staff and– That… that you were–”
Dagger. Staff… She!?!
“Lyra was here!?!” I yelp. “Oh Dreamer’s Tits WHEN!?!”
Hope sparks. That… that she escaped and came here and–
“Hours and hours ago.” Nelops holds Tretion with me as our watcher nods through her sobbing.
Heart sinks.
“Rot and Blighted Ruin!” I curse. “I need to go. Now.”
I shove the book into their arms. Wriggle free of their embraces, and start to fish out the trinkets from the sack.
Ring of deflection, beads of fury and focus, grains of pops and snaps…
“Awnya… What’s going on!?! What happened?” Tretion blubbers, looking down at the book, then back up to me.
“Short version, then I’m going. Nelops, get the dagger and stave please.” I begin to slip on the trinkets and hum a light healing song to get my body in a good place as she nods and scurries off. “Lyra’s alive, She’s been with Thendra. Dreamer’s Tits!!! I… I even checked that manor years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was a quick in and out and there wasn’t a trace of songs from any of them. No one had been there in a long time.”
Tretion’s tendrils curl in… in annoyance. But she nods. Understanding why I didn’t tell her.
“That boon she owed to Furthonois, the blighted cunt called it in. Demanded she capture me for it.”
Tretion gasps, “But that means…”
“She chose to fight them instead.” I finish when she trails off.
Nelops is back, passing me the weapons.
“What!?!” Tretion hisses.
“Thendra, the cunt, kept me bound and gagged till sunrise. I don’t know what happened to Lyra.”
Then I’m turning, almost running back to the gateway. But a hand snatches mine. I wince, turn back to find Tretion giving me such a… such a pained and focused look.
“I know how stupid and dangerous this is.” I whisper. Looking down at the staff that still growls in hunger, then up to the book in her other hand. “I… But I can’t not go. And… I got the tome. That’s the last piece so if something happens you’ll be s–”
Tretion drops the book and steps forward, pulls me into an embrace that for a moment I think will be a kiss, but she stops just shy of it.
Grips my face. Hard.
“Awnya, my beloved.” She hisses as her tendrils wrap around my cheeks and through my hair. “You will NOT sacrifice yourself. Not even for her. You will come back to me.”
“I… Tretion we don’t really have time for–”
“NO! I will have a promise in song from you about this or I will NOT let you leave!” She’s shaking now. “If you don’t I will burn that book to ashes. Right here. Right now.”
I freeze, my own tears welling up as… A piece of my soul, a part of that old scar that refused to heal mends at hearing that I’m not… She really never considered me a replacement for Lyra. That our love is unique and irreplaceable to her, just as it is to me.
And so I weave the promise in song, weeping the entire time before heading out to find our lover.
* * *
A whisper of sand and spice, and suddenly I’m drowning in a memory that’s not mine.
“NO!” I whimper as they drag me across the sands. “Utaka! Please! I–”
My Mistress and lover sighs, looking at the guards. “Feel free to gag her until she calms.”
My eyes widen. “B– but I…”
I see another guard step up, rank metal mouth binding in hand. It’s such a horrid thing. A magical spiteful contraption that binds the mouth and tongue and… and only just allows a slave to breath and drink.
“Okay okay okay!” I plead. “I… I’ll stop j– just please…”
He pauses, looks between the captain and my Mistress.
“Do what you think is best.” Utaka waves dismissively and turns away.
They decide to gag me, and leave me a voiceless mess of sobbing in the back of the cart as they carry me away from my lover's estate.
A gift to the god of Theradas.
* * *
Stumbling I… I choke and sob as the memory passes. Talons digging into the sandstone.
Wh– Where am I?
Glance about… see…
The corpse of Furthonois, still staked to the floor by my blade.
I scramble to my feet, then jerk down and stare in horror at my soul. It’s smaller than it ever has been, just a tiny flicker of starlight. More reduced than even after Thendra’s most voracious nights. It’s… Why is it so… so small?!? Where are my Naranggas!?!
Where are my Jellyfish!?!
I try to… to growl a melody of soul healing or… or something. Hoping that it’s just… hurt a little. That I can fix thi-
But suddenly, In a flash, my Amwella pulses and explodes out, a wave of bladed horrors and hissing maws and–
And a gathering crowd of curious predators I hadn’t even noticed approaching are given a horrid Amwella death as their souls are ripped free by the sudden and unstoppable wroth.
Then it’s all snapping back, stolen soulfire colliding into me and sending me into a sprawling mess of feeding euphoria. But… but the heat and warmth isn’t alone. With it comes howling monsters. Predators at my back and hissing such dark threats.
Looking about, I’m searching for… for the source of the horrors I feel approaching. Spot writhing shapes of ravenous darkness rising from the shadows. I gurgle and hiss in warning and…
No Naranggas to help, just… just…
But then my Amwella surges again a weight of oceans crashing down upon my mind and soul and–
* * *
Another memory. This one is even more vivid than the last.
“Look at this pretty one!” The bandit laughs as they toss me forward.
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I skid across the little rug at their feet and it takes a second to… to recover my focus and force my lithe form to float up a little. Unlike most souls walking the rifts, my kind are born without legs. Just a wiggly and long scaled tail alongside the ability to float about a foot from the ground when we focus.
I turn up my head to glare at the leader of this band of petty slave thieves. She’s not a tall woman, and would be shorter than me if I stretched up enough, even with those tall horns.
But… My goddess she is strong. All rippling muscles and scars and…
The woman smirks as I stare, eyes roll up and down my already subtly shifting feminine bare torso.
“And getting better by the second.” The leader murmurs. “A Lithy then?”
I want to growl at the… the insult! I am Keshada! Born to be a Lady of the Six Ways! Bred and Groomed for my life. Not just some… some snake shaped pillow slave!
A pause, the bandit behind me roughly nudges me. “Answer her.”
I glare back at them, pointing to the gag I still wear.
She is taller than me. By like… a good head. Not thick though. Ripcord strength, with rippling tattoos that glow a bit. And… and I think they’re magic too. That’s what she used to kill my mistress’ guards and drag me here.
Before I realize even a flash of annoyance she hits me in the gut, hard. My will shatters, and I crumple into the ground. My ability to hover lost to sudden pain.
I… I try to focus again, shakily rise to float upright again.
The woman looms over me, grips me by the chain about my neck and yanks me up to meet her gaze.
Glares expectantly.
A pause, then I nod. Look away.
The leader laughs. “I’ll leave her to you then, Vilran. Make sure she’s well and truly broken by the time we take her to market next month.”
M– Market!?! N– No! I… I’ll tell them to ransom me back to my Mistress. She’ll pay so much to get me! Will forget about this whole tribute nonsense and–
* * *
A gasp, and I’m choking on the sand and spice of my city.
Wh– is the gag gone? Where am I?
I sit up and… look around the temple. Find… find nothing but corpses.
What was that?
Shuddering and letting out such a huff of annoyance and fear at the memory.
Are… was that Furthonois? They… I mean I know they were a slave before. The Old Road is like… the story of how they broke their chains, killed a god, and took their freedom.
I guess I’m just… getting some like… memories from their soul but…
I look down at my basically naked body, most of its clothes burned away by the venom, and wince at how small my soul still looks.
What happened? Did… did someone eat most of my Amwella? Or… But… it exploded!
WAIT... Is it just like… squished tight?
Maybe… maybe I can…
Amwella flares, then ripples out in a wave of power that drags me back to slumping into the floor.
Searching… howling… gnashing and… And the shadows are back. More solid and visible than before. Thrumming with malice and hatred. Coming to… to eat me and hurt me and ravage my everything.
Panic overwhelms my thoughts as these horrid things approach. Need to escape! My soul is attracting whatever these things are to me!!! Need… need to find help. Find Thendra!
Without thinking I howl a Riftwalk and throw myself mindlessly away from them.
But… but the curse stings SO hard! Slams into my soul with a crackling force from places unseen, and jerking my mind into… into messing up the song and breaking my melody. Sends me spiraling madly through the Dream to crash down into…
Into a grove amidst a wash of Fae song. Wonderful and familiar and–
* * *
“Well, well well. Look at you.” Vilran pulls the chain to get a good look at my face, turns me from side to side.
I just… let my everything go slack. Focus on my floating as she inspects me.
“I expected to find you withered and stinking of your own piss, but here you are.” She smirks, pulls me close. “Looking like a snack.”
I… she’d kept me chained and gagged for a week.
“You’re going to learn to wipe that glare from your face.” She’d snarled, chaining me to the edge of her bed. “We don’t have time to re-train a nice pillow slave like yourself, and I’m not going to beat you bloody. So here’s the deal. You either make me feel like I’m your fucking favorite person to wake up to, or I keep you chained and alone for the day and sleeping on the floor through the night.”
It… I couldn’t help it! Waking up every day to the same amazing mistress for nearly two decades and then… and then having her sell you away just… I mean I wasn’t even glaring these past three days!!! Just… just not like… offering her overt affections!
She presses my back into a bedpost. “I’m going to offer you a choice. Make up for this past week of bad behavior to me, and I’ll take off that gag and get you a decent meal.”
I let my eyes wander to hers. Waiting for the ‘Or’.
She steps very very close to whisper. “You’ve wasted a week of my time and I have been very gentle with you. So, either start being a good girl and help me get you ready for the market, or… well… I’ll start getting more creative.”
I glance down… considering…
This body she inflicted me to shift into is… it’s not the worst. I can only assume what horrid shapes another might want me to take. A Keshada’s form is malleable and wonderful. A gift to their lover as much as themselves. If groomed well, we can sense the souls of those around us and shift to becoming more pleasing to them.
And I was groomed very well.
All Keshada of the Six Ways are. We’re more than pillow slaves. Treasured lovers and companions all! Bound to Matrons and Mistresses to soothe their every physical and soul ailment.
Our soft scales and muscles will just… shift and distort at first. Adjust weight and length at first, then height and voice over time. Eventually… eventually even our sex if our lover really wanted it…
Thank the goddess I never needed to deal with that again.
But now… I can’t stop my body and soul from sensing Vilran’s desires and trying to shapeshift myself to her hungers! A… a smaller form than I’ve had in years. Breasts modest but perky, hair a darker shade, even my voice feels lighter and… and more young.
I don’t want to shift into this but… but I’ve never needed to control it! My Mistress would keep me close and rarely shared me.
Vilran sighs, begins to move and–
I jerk up and nod furiously, torn from my thoughts by the sudden fear of what she might do to a stubborn pillow slave.
She smirks. “That’s a good girl!”
Then she pulls out an ugly key, reaches up, and unlocks the gag. I choke and sob for a second before she reaches up to take my chin in her hand.
“Now… Show me what you're worth, then we’ll get you fed and cleaned up.” She purrs, pulling me over into her bed.
* * *
The stink of Vilran and her horrid voice fades to a grove that smells of wondrous bees and their honey. So familiar and perfect. But… but its songs are soft and faded and…
I whimper into the soft grass. Hoping… hoping she’s just…
But I already know what I’ll find. An old home. Abandoned and left to be reclaimed by the forest.
Such a pitiful wail of soul pain and… and loneliness drifts past my lips as I call out for her as best I can through a tongueless mouth.
Weeping for the mother who is not there.
She’s gone. Left her home. Maybe… maybe even abandoned the Dream. All because of me. The disgusting failure who blighted her real child.
And amidst my sobs and calls for my only family, the shadows find me. Somehow able to pass so easily through the song wards of the Fae Wood.
I’m barely able to wail a Riftwalk as I claw at the grass. Just let the stupid thing open beneath me and have downward force pull me through.
Need… need help. I can’t fight them! I’m too tired and… and don’t have my Naranggas!!
But… once again the curse bites hard, and my shattered song sends me into Rifts unknown as a horrid memory drowns my mind.
* * *
“Wh– What?” I stammer at her words.
Velran ignores me. Cracks her neck and moves into our tent, slips out of her shawl and sits at the desk where I’ve already prepared her evening meal. A feast of better tasting food than any cook in this camp has made for her.
I’ve worked so hard to be good to her these past two weeks. Shown just… just how grateful a companion and lover I can be! My mentor would preen in such joy if she could see how her favorite charge has adapted.
But… Vilran’s words. They… they don’t make sense!
I weave over to her back, deft and trained fingers already working away the knots that’ve formed beneath the flesh from the stress of her day.
Just… she misspoke or… or just… just doesn’t know what this all means! Bandits are stupid and… and I need to nudge her toward the right path.
“Mistress?” I whisper. I hated calling her that those first days, but… but quickly got over it. Dedicated myself to her and this new life is so easy now. “Did… did I do something wrong?”
She doesn’t even pause as she eats, just shakes her head.
“Then…” I nibble on my cheek, careful not to bite too hard. “Um… Why sell me at all? And… I’ve told you I’m a Keshada of the Six Ways right? Not… Not just some common slave.”
She pauses, glances back. Eyes… well not hard but annoyed. Stressed. “No, Lithy. You’re not. Out here you are just a Lithy pillow slave.”
Vilran turns back. A sign that this conversation is over. The horrid thing she called me stings but… but that’s fine. I deserved that. It was clumsy and stupid and unfair of me to spring this on her.
So… I let her finish her meal while I massage her neck. Draw her up a bath and begin to help wash her hair. She was… reluctant when I first offered. But now she expects it every night and it relaxes her so much.
“You could probably get like… double the coin if you tell the people at the market that I’m a groomed Keshada.” I idly add through the little chattering we’re sharing. She’s already on the topic of how she expects me to pack her things for the trip. So It’s not too much of a thing to slide into the conversation.
I let her consider my words as I pour cool water to rinse her hair. Reach for the towels to prepare drying her.
“Doesn’t matter.” She shrugs, leaning back to let me work. “Not my call.”
I… I want to press. But… I’ll wait.
After what was quite a voracious night for her, and Vilran is settling in to read some book she’s been enjoying while I curl my smooth chilly and scaled body about her, I murmur. “If… You could have Megra send for me. I’m sure I could show her how much better I am than some pillow slave.”
Vilran stiffens at the mention of her little bandit group's leader, turns to… oh no that’s…
A pause as she tells me with her glare to stop pushing this.
“B– But. I… I’m just…” I stammer, let a bit of my fear bleed into my tone and eyes. “I’m scared. Scared of… of the kind of people who will want me. What they’ll want me for. I… I don’t want to be fed upon.”
Amwella drinkers. Soul feeders. Such… such a horrid end to endure…
She looks away, “You’ll be fine. No one who’s going to pay the price we’re asking will waste your flesh like that.”
Not… She hasn’t told me to stop though.
“A Keshada of the Six Ways is a rare thing!” I press gently, but still let my voice convey some fear. “You… honestly I was being modest earlier, Vilran! My Mistress back in Utepe paid six times what the best pillow slaves go for! And I’d only had my Amwella sparked for a year then!”
Vilran sighs.
“Or… why not have Megra keep me! Use me. I’ve done so much for you, I… I can serve the entire camp! Help organize things! That’s what we’re groomed to do. Be everything to our Mistress. Not just… not just flesh pleasure.”
She’s shaking her head now. “No, girl. Just… drop this. Accept your lot in life and–”
“Please.” My voice is a little panicked now. What I could not change by logic needs must be swayed by the little affections I know Vilran has come to have for me. “I… You know how I’ll be treated. Pillow slaves rarely last a year in these lands. The chances of me getting a good Mistress is–”
“Stop.” She snaps. And my mouth clamps shut on instinct. “No more. I’m not going to tell you again.”
Bite my lip, and I… I can see her confliction. See her tilting between options. Just need to… to push her.
I wait for her eyes to drift back to mine, and whisper very softly. “Please.”
That’s it. Nothing else.
Vilran just… stares. Face goes blank.
Then a flash of… determination?
Then she’s setting aside her book and pulling me from the bed by the chain around my collar.
Moving us through the camp. Her by two feet and me floating behind. Toward the central lanes of tents. And… and I see Megra’s tent! She… she’s taking me to…
“Thank you.” I whisper, almost… a sob of grateful–
Then we turn, move away from the leader’s big tent. Toward the common areas and outside hammocks of camp followers.
My brow furrows in confusion. Wh– where’s she–
Then we’re at an odd post… thing. And she’s latching me to it.
“What are you doing?” I stammer.
After I’m leashed to it, she turns a hard glare at me. One with… with such spite and fury and…
“This is the post for our camp’s common pillow slaves.” She growls. “Ones too ugly, used up, or fucking stupid to know what they are.”
My eyes go wide. “V– Vilran. I–”
“That’s all you are, Lithy.” She takes my chin in her hands. “And tonight you are going to either accept that and walk away without too many cuts and bruises, or fight it and get really beat up. Then you really will be sold cheaply.”
“Please! I… I’m so sorry I–”
She slams me into the post, causing my focus to drip and my body to slump. But she holds me up against it, glaring. “What are you, Lithy? To me, to this camp. Right now.”
I flounder for a bit, wriggle and… and trying to regain my focus so I can float and–
“Yours!” I whimper.
She drops me. Stands over my sobbing form while I barely fight to regain enough of my mind to start floating again.
Then she leans down, takes my leash, and for a second I… I think she’s going to take me back! That this was just a little scary lesson to prove a point!
But she only pulls me up to look into her pitiless eyes. “Wrong answer. Make sure you have the right one by the morning.”
And then she leaves me.
* * *
Choking at the wash of Vilran’s cruelty, I slam down onto the hard stone floor. Whimpering and… and sobbing. Wanting to sing this horrid pain away but… but terrified of the sting of the curse and the shadows that seem to follow me.
Looking up I find… I don’t know. I’ve never been here before!
A few women I don’t recognize approach, clad in armor and weapons carefully raised.
I gurgle out a whimper, scramble to rise, fail. Slump back into the cold stone. Mind and body and soul just… so tired. Fast draining of the will to run or fight.
But… before anything else happens I hear a shout, and feel a blazing soul approach. Turn to eyes of Cerulean fire and such… such…
“Lyra?” The Duchess Raska barely whispers and begins to kneel a few feet from me. Everflame between her horns thrumming and dancing about as her eyes lock onto mine.
Malicious shadows gather behind her, howling furious threats and hatred.
A flare of terror and horrid memory sparks my body into one last burst of strength. Then I’m scrambling back, from both her and the shadows, trying to fight to my feet as I wail a Riftwalking song to both help me escape and… and communicate with the woman who gave me the burns I refuse to heal.
I… I didn’t want to come here! I’m so sorry!!! P– Please don’t hurt me again!
My Amwella thrums with power… cracks forming along its edges now as I hold back what might be another wave of soul-drinking death.
The Duchess calls out to me. But… but I can only wail the Riftwalking song to try and escape back to Theradas. Curse tearing and Reaving so much of my little soulfire as I tumble through the Dream.
* * *
I ignore the others as I wait for my turn atop the stage. Just… stare down at the little chain coming out from my collar.
When it’s time she leads me up and… and starts rattling off things about me.
Mostly about how my body will shift to match my owners’ desires.
No compliments for my cooking or… or weeks of pampering her, no mention of my grooming or history of being a Keshada of the Six Ways. Just… Another pillow slave up for auction.
I’m beyond tears now. I… I closed myself off to it. Just… just like my mentor taught me. My pain and will and desires don’t matter. My thoughts are only valuable so long as they serve whoever holds my leash.
Then the bidding starts and… and I have to fight so hard to ignore the prices offered.
All so low, all… all just… what you’d pay for a pretty pillow slave to satisfy a few months' desires. So many who dwell out here in the wastes enjoy the taste of soulfire and… and will just… gobble up Amwella carelessly when they feel the hunger bubbling up.
Near the end there is a bid made that exceeds the rest and stifles competition. A generous offer for a pillow slave, but… still a paltry sum and insult to my mentor’s work.
I can’t bear to even try and find their face in the crowd as Vilran leads me from the stage, takes me to the side room to be chained to a wall beside a row of other sold slaves.
Awaiting my new master.
I pray silently to the Dreadweave to bless my soul and give me to a kinder woman who knows my worth and will be overjoyed at her luck at paying so little for a treasured companion.
When they finally come for me no words are offered, they just… unlock my leash from the wall and lead me quietly and quickly from the auction. She’s tall, hooded, and wearing a cloak to cover a fairly large frame. I… I wince a little at how easily such a woman could hurt me. Either by accident or intentional cruelty.
Eventually we’re at an inn across the street, and they’re taking me upstairs to a room.
That’s when I finally take a deep breath and try to offer them a kind smile as they shut the door behind us. Need to endear them to me quick so that I can hopefully survive and live we–
She pulls aside her hood and scarf, and my heart breaks in joy.
“D– Delvia!?!” I whisper.
My mistress's first guardian, her most trusted warrior and servant… Came here.
For me!
I throw myself into her chest, weeping loudly and with abandon as she places her arms carefully on my shoulders, pats and offers me little murmurs of obviously hesitant comforts. But I… I just can’t stop! Can’t help but push my body to begin shifting to her hunger as I smell a bit of my home on her.
“Furthonois.” She grunts in mild annoyance.
My name! Spoken aloud! It... it's been so long! I can’t help but nuzzle closer as I whimper, “You… you came for me! You found me!”
“Yeah.” Is all she murmurs, still… still a bit reluctant but… I am very good at enticing women.
“Delvia…” I whisper, turn up my tear stained puffy eyes to meet her dull gray. “Thank you. For… for coming for me and… and buying me back and…”
She shuffles, uncomfortable. But… not from my advances.
“The Lady Utaka won’t…” She tries weakly to protect, but her hands are unconsciously already moving down to my lithe hips. “Look this isn’t…”
I giggle, snuggle closer. Force all my will into hovering my body up closer to her chin and neck.
My Mistress had mused about sending me out to reward her first servant a few times. Back then I’d been uncomfortable with the idea and distracted her from the thought. But now… just the idea of making love to this woman from my home is intoxicating.
She hesitates a little, but then I give the girl one of my best hissing purrs while tilting up to nibble on her. The kind of motions and sounds that could have my mistress spending hours and hours entangled with my body.
“Pleeeeease Delvia…”
And then she sighs and all but carries my form to the small bed, my tail curling about her while my lips find hers.