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People called her the whore's daughter. The truth is, they are not wrong.
The people around the seaside town of Mearlbay would call her an aborted survivor because whores did not keep children, but if you asked the other children she played with on the street, her name was Donis. Who she used to be isn't relevant, but what is important is the knowledge she carried from her past life. She died knowing basic life skills to survive in the modern age. However, knowing how to microwave ramen and flush a toilet didn't have much practical value when this world's technology was comparable to the Middle Ages. To have a roof over her head at night was a blessing, as most children in Mearlbay were either children of whores, stowaways, or slaves. That was the perk of living in a town located within an ocean bay; there were all kinds of people in shitty situations.
Donis was the first of the three tropes but kept tight-lipped. Whores who worked in brothels lost their value if they had a child. Having a child meant losing nine months of work in their brothel, where the prostitute was kicked out. Brothel owners viewed their employees like objects. If the market value of that object falls, so does the income. Donis's mother's market value was higher than average, making her one of the most desired women in the seaside town. When the brothel owner heard of Donis's existence, Donis's mother was given a choice to either keep her or abort her—something very unheard of. Diana decided to keep her daughter because of the consequences of a botched abortion would end her career. Instead of living as mother and daughter, their relationship was master and apprentice.
Mearlbay was a town notorious for debauchery—human trafficking, drug trading, and sex work were some of the most common crimes committed. Every fetish was fed, and morals were nowhere to be found. Donis's skill of losing track of time would lead her to a path in life where she would have to choose between staying true to her old life's principles or losing them to survive.
Years later, Donis would think back to the night she had to decide, wondering where it all went wrong. It all happened so quickly; she wondered if it had been a dream—everything seemed so calm before everything went to hell—how the protracted build-ups and suspense were part of scary stories. Not real life.
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The autumnal chill had settled in as the sun set its golden hues among the buildings and her pathway home. All the men and women were prowling the streets, searching for a customer or partner for the night. Donis is young and passably pretty, and nights in Mearlbay's streets were quite dangerous for those girls.
She kept her eyes on the ground with a hard stare. All she could focus on was the sound of the wooden soles of her leather flats on the cobblestone walkway. She prayed that she would stay hidden from the people who passed by. The unspoken rule of Mearlbay was that those who mind their own are generally safe.
Where is her brothel?
She can't even begin to comprehend where she is concerning every building that looks the same. The district was a sprawling maze without a sense of order, with alleyways in every direction and streets rewinding them on themselves. It's probably meant to confuse law enforcement, but it seems to confuse the natives, who spent little time memorizing these pathways. Maps existed but weren't used because that would be begging for law enforcement to invade the crime territory. A grown man couldn't even fit half of the streets, as narrow as they are. Asking one of the nicer-looking women came across her mind, but that would break the unspoken rule of making your business theirs, and nobody liked those types of people.
Getting deeper into the gridlock of the streets, Donis feels her stomach churn as she wants to vomit or make a joke, but nothing is funny at the moment. She is scared, she will admit. As the streets fill up, the gazes of the predators linger on her body, and shivers proceed to climb her skin, soldering her arms in goosebumps. All the humor and apathy bleed out from her pores as her heart speeds up.
All those appraising eyes on her adolescent form make her want to gouge every eyeball out. She's barely out of single digits, and people look at her like a piece of meat. She could scream and cry all she wanted, but this was Mearlbay, a town controlled by crime. Everyone knows that as long as nothing disrupts the power balance or further destroys the economy, anything goes. Slaves are being bartered like pieces of food, children are dying of starvation, and families are being murdered in their homes. Nobody gives a shit. Nobody in power cares unless it directly affects them.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Donis continues to walk; she is only eleven—skinny and untrained in combat. Suddenly, she wishes that she spent more time learning to defend herself rather than playing. Deep down, she wanted to escape the apprenticeship that led her future to be a high-class prostitute, and playing with the children on the outskirts of the large seaside village did that. The farther away from the village's port, the safer one is.
In Donis's case, she was heading to that exact area. She smiles at the brothel's logo from afar and raced to it. Not even two blocks away, talon-like hands forcibly pull her into a narrow alleyway. She wanted to run, but the grip was too firm. Her attacker ran a rough finger across her cheek, making her look up at the nameless assaulter—leery dark green eyes, curly brown hair with split ends, and a smile that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
"You look like one of Ronald's gals," the man states, taking his finger from her cheek to take a loose piece of strawberry-blonde hair to feel the soft structure.
His words make her hate him.
"I'm not for sale," Donis spits out coldly, seeing something in his eyes change into something dark, like a psychopath switching personalities.
The hand holding the strand of hair trailed to the ribbon, holding it into a bun. Loosening it, he brings her body close to his chest, leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder. Donis froze up at the hot breath glazing her shoulder as her hair fell around her shoulders. A hand creeps up her back to find her corset's string— "It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission, isn't it?"
Donis fights back by yelling out, pushing him away, and clawing at his chest, only to have her wrists manhandled between their bodies. He held them before her as his other hand pulled the smocked corset's bow tie looser from the back. The people who dared to glance into the alley quickly looked away as the unspoken rule filled their minds.
"I am his best customer, after all. I'm sure he will agree to forgive me."
Donis smells the booze and stale sweat from his breath.
This man was twice her age and size; how was she supposed to fight back? Even if she did know how to fight, he might outclass her in strength and speed. All he had to do was hold her in place to do what he wanted. Realization hit her through tear-stained lashes. This was happening. He's going to engrave his touch upon her skin, take away her innocence, and then kill her. That's what all the predators did.
Donis has lived in this city for eleven years. She's sick of all the injustice and fed up with the ones in power who refuse to purge this place from its bad roots. It's everyone for themselves, the survival of the fittest. Nobody was going to help her.
The man breathed in her smell as the veins on his neck became more visible from the alcohol—his fast-paced heart placing more pressure on the vessels.
The sight of them spoke to Donis's inner, innermost thoughts, pushing aside all she had been taught from her past life. The exceeding pressure from the flood was slowly bleeding through the dam's cracks. The seconds felt like minutes inside her head as she pressed a hard stare on those veins. No matter how strong someone was, everyone bled the same color.
Like the hooks the fishermen used to catch even the biggest fish, her teeth sink into his neck. They lock in like sentient hooks, refusing to let go.
The tables shifted, the dam broke, and the man was now screaming for help. Hot, coppery blood replaced the breath that had lingered on her neck. A river of it floods down her chin as bubbles of it pop from her rapid breathing through the corners of her mouth. So be it if she had to breathe through the blood because she wasn't letting go of her only chance at freedom. The hand wrapped around her wrists and grabbed at the back of her hair, pulling her head back. A large chunk of flesh ripped from the man's neck as he tried to pry her off. Stringy pieces were all that were connecting that chunk and his neck.
The moment Donis felt the grip leave her wrists, she clawed into that wound, widening it until the man's howls gave way. She is too high on adrenaline and panic to process her gruesome actions. Whatever had been lingering in the back of her mind possessed her every movement without a thought—to fight a monster is to become one. Everyone, good or bad, had something like that, waiting to be unleashed in life-threatening situations.
His body fell back as hers lurched forward to remain in position. It might have been ten minutes before the blood loss from the wound would make his eyes gloss over. Pushing herself off him, Donis spits out the flesh from her mouth in his face. Endorphins ran strong as she panted like a feral animal.
A cold, loathing expression crept across her face—guilt, sorrow, and hatred lingered for the predators in this defiled village. People will think twice about touching the child with blood on her dress the rest of her way home.
Then, breathless and tired, she looks at the pedophile bleeding out on the stone ground; she feels better. She doesn't care.
Her heart turns cold as she doesn't regret his death one bit.
A blue holographic screen popped out in front of her. Still euphoric from the high of adrenaline and the results of the situation, she was led to the belief that she was hallucinating.
[You have completed all the necessary steps to become a citizen of the new world.]
[Character Arc, generating…]
Excuse me?
Before she could think anymore, her vision shut off forcibly like a television screen, and her body gave out from the influx of systems inaugurating themselves within her mindscape. Who was doing this to her was the important question—perhaps some being of higher power beyond human comprehension.