Twenty springs

[Isolde]

Isolde is a woman who has seen just over twenty springs. Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, and her emerald-green eyes had a way of piercing through one's soul. Her pale skin had a delicate hint of pink on her cheeks, giving her an everlasting youthful appearance.

Isolde's days were a symphony of laughter and joy from her five younger siblings. They lived in a modest house next to Haldor's place. Each morning, she would wake up to the melodious sound of her siblings' laughter, which filled her heart with a warmth like no other. In these moments, her world felt almost perfect.

With unwavering determination to help her mother out, she rose before dawn each day. The roosters were yet to announce the new day, and the town slept in blissful ignorance. In her modest kitchen, she prepared their daily meals, the aroma of freshly baked bread and hearty soups filling the air. Every meal was prepared with love, and it showed in the smiles that adorned her siblings' faces.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, Isolde embarked on a series of various odd jobs throughout the town, each offering her meager pay. Her days were filled with the task of sweeping the streets, cleaning the homes of the wealthier town residents, laundering the uniforms of the town's soldiers, and even helping the elderly mend their tattered clothing. These jobs provided the extra coins that kept her family from the jaws of hunger.

But it all changed when her mother had fallen gravely ill, and she was the only one who could tend to her needs and manage the household. Now, beneath her always cheerful look, Isolde carried a heavy sadness. Her days were filled with the responsibility of caring for her ailing mother, tending to household chores, and ensuring her younger siblings had everything they required.

A few months ago, Isolde experienced a particularly rough morning. She woke up, her body aching and her mind groggy from a restless night. The constant coughing of her ill mother echoed through the house, keeping her awake until the early hours of the morning.

The morning sun gently streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on the room where Isolde stood by Mother's bedside. She approached, her voice a whisper, as she spoke to her frail, ailing mother.— "Morning, Mom," she greeted, her words filled with warmth and tenderness. Isolde's heart ached to see her in such a fragile state.

Her mother looked up, and Isolde could see the traces of a once vibrant and strong woman, now reduced to a mere echo of her former self.— "How are you feeling today?" Isolde asked, her voice laden with concern and weariness, her eyes locked onto her face. The reply was barely a whisper, a mere echo of her former strength and vitality. "Better than yesterday," she croaked, her words almost lost in the room's silence.

— "That's good to hear," Isolde murmured, her voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. She couldn't help the tears that welled up in her eyes. It was hard to see her mother like this, frail and suffering.

Her frail condition tugged at Isolde's heartstrings.— "You must be hungry. Let me get you something to eat," Isolde murmured, her hands moving to fetch a bowl and a spoon. She couldn't bear to see her suffering.

"I'm not hungry," the woman replied, her voice husky, her gaze distant and unfocused. Isolde's heart sank at the refusal. She couldn't let her be without nourishment; it would only make her weaker.

— "Mom, you have to eat something," Isolde insisted, her voice pleading and thick with desperation. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of love and fear for her fading strength.

"There's not much food left, my dear," her mother replied, her eyes drifting towards the window. Isolde couldn't help but notice the barren kitchen shelves. Their provisions had dwindled to nearly nothing, and they had been reduced to eating scraps and leftovers.

— "We'll find a way," Isolde replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. She couldn't allow herself to lose hope for her mother's sake and the sake of her siblings.

"My daughter," she breathed, her gaze still fixed on the window. "I don't have much time left, don't waste what's left on me," she whispered, her words like a fragile breeze that barely stirred the room.

Isolde couldn't hold back her tears any longer.— "Don't say that," she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears, her heart aching with grief. "I can't lose you, Mom," she sobbed, her shoulders trembling, her fingers tightly clutching the empty bowl.

Mother offered a weak, sorrowful smile. "We all have to go someday, Isolde," her voice barely audible, a fragile wisp in the silent room. It was a painful truth, one that Isolde wasn't ready to accept.

— "It's okay, Mom," Isolde murmured, her eyes misty with tears. "I'll go to the market and find some work," she added, her voice trembling with determination.

"You are a brave and strong young woman, Isolde," her mother managed to say, her words a gentle encouragement. "Don't forget that," she added, her voice growing weaker by the moment.

— "Thank you, Mom," Isolde whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She couldn't bear to think of her mother leaving her.

Isolde gently placed the bowl on the bedside table, her hands shaking nervously. She couldn't afford to fail, not when so much was at stake.

"Go and find your work," she whispered, her voice a fading echo, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and sadness.

— "I'll come back with some money, Mom. Just hang in there a little longer," Isolde promised, her voice wavering with emotion, her eyes glistening with tears.

"You are a wonderful daughter, Isolde," she said back, her voice fading like the last rays of the setting sun.

Isolde nodded, her throat too choked with emotion to speak.

She turned to leave the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

Isolde left the house, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and sorrow. The sunlight was harsh, starkly contrasting with the dimly lit room she had just left.

The streets were bustling with activity, a cacophony of voices and sounds. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp, metallic scent of iron and steel, the unmistakable stench of a smithy.

Isolde took a deep breath, her resolve renewed.

From street to street, Isolde searched desperately for any available work. Her heart sank with every door closed in her face, her desperation growing with each passing moment.

As the sun reached its zenith, Isolde's feet ached, and her body screamed for rest. Yet, she couldn't afford to stop, not when her mother and her siblings were counting on her.

With each passing hour, Isolde's heart grew heavier, a dull ache spreading throughout her chest. Her eyes scanned the street, and her knuckles were white with tension.

As the sun began to set, Isolde found herself wandering aimlessly, her steps heavy with defeat.

Her warm and salty tears ran down her cheeks, staining her face. Her lips quivered, her heart filled with sorrow and helplessness.

The streets were nearly empty, the silence broken only by a dog's occasional murmur or bark. The sky was a mixture of oranges, purples, and reds, a breathtaking spectacle of nature's beauty.

Isolde sat on the steps of a nearby home, her head buried in her hands. Her heart ached, her body wracked with sobs. The hopelessness of the situation was crushing, a suffocating weight on her shoulders.

She felt so helpless, so useless, unable to provide for her family, and she hated herself for it. She couldn't imagine returning to her mother empty-handed, the disappointment and sorrow clear in her eyes.

As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, the town grew quieter, its residents retreating into the safety of their homes.

Isolde felt as if the shadows were watching her, judging her for her failure.

A local brothel owner named Elara approached her, a sultry, confident sway to her hips, her lips curved into a seductive smile. "Hello, darling," Elara greeted, her voice low.

— "Hi," Isolde replied, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"You seem like a nice girl," Elara continued, her eyes raking over Isolde's slender frame. "How would you like a job that would pay well and put food on the table?"

Isolde couldn't help but feel a wave of unease wash over her.— "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

"I'm the owner of the Pleasure Palace, the only brothel in this town," Elara explained, her smile never faltering. "I'm looking for some fresh faces to help with the business," she added, her eyes glinting with mischief.

The thought weighed heavy on Isolde's heart, yet she knew it was a path she had to consider. Desperation had settled deep within her. There seemed no other way to ease their financial turmoil. Isolde hesitated, torn between the promise of a steady income and society's judgment. She knew the world could be cruel, especially to women who made such choices.

In the end, she made her decision. She agreed to work for Elara, believing that her family's well-being was worth this difficult choice. Isolde didn't dare share her secret with anyone, not her ailing mother or her innocent siblings. The fear of their disapproval and the tarnishing of her family's name was a burden she alone could bear.

On her first night at the Pleasure Palace, Isolde was greeted by a whirlwind of activity, overwhelming sounds and smells. Music, laughter, and the sounds of conversation filled the air, the scents of various perfumes mixing together to create a unique and intoxicating aroma.

Elara guided her through the crowd, weaving through the sea of bodies, her movements smooth and graceful.

Elara pointed out the Pleasure Palace's various rooms and services as they walked. Her words were filled with pride and a hint of mischief. "There are many types of patrons here, Isolde," Elara explained. "We cater to every whim and desire, offering a wide variety of choices," she finished, her smile revealing perfectly white teeth.

Isolde nodded, trying to remain calm despite her nervousness. She knew this wasn't a place she should be, and she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if anyone from the church ever learned of her presence there.

Elara led Isolde up a flight of stairs, the sounds of merriment following them. As they reached the second floor, Elara gestured to a line of rooms, each labeled with a number. "These are the private rooms," Elara explained. "Once you are done with your customer, you can return here, and we will assign you to a new patron."

Isolde nodded, her mind already spinning from the information.

Elara continued, "We have a variety of rules and standards that all girls must follow," she said, her tone turning more serious. "The most important one is that no harm can come to our girls. If a customer gets rough or violent, you have the right to call for help. And if a man tries to force himself upon you, he will be dealt with swiftly," she explained, her words ringing with a sense of conviction.

Isolde couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at these rules, knowing that she wouldn't have to worry about being assaulted by a client.

Elara continued, "There is also a strict rule against bringing any type of drugs into the building. The last thing we need is for one of our girls to get addicted or have a bad reaction," she added.

Isolde nodded, taking mental notes. She felt her stomach twist and turn with anxiety.

"If you have any questions, please let me know," Elara said, her tone warm and reassuring.

— "Thank you," Isolde replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't believe the turn her life had taken. She had spent so many years dreaming of marriage, a life of comfort and security. Now, she was facing a life of shame.

But her mother's condition weighed heavily on her mind. She knew she couldn't let her die without doing everything she could to ease her suffering.

The night went on, and Isolde found herself in the company of various men, each seeking the pleasures of her body. They came in all shapes and sizes, each with their own unique desires and tastes.

Isolde's first time was painful, her inexperience evident. Yet, she persevered, determined to endure the discomfort for the sake of her family.

As the night drew on, her clients became bolder, their hands wandering across her body, their lips pressed against her skin. Their touches were both rough and gentle, leaving her skin tingling with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

In the early hours of the morning, Isolde returned to her modest home, her body aching and her soul weary, yet her pocket full of coins. Her mother and siblings were fast asleep, oblivious to what she had done. She couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and guilt, knowing she couldn't bear the shame and disappointment in their eyes if they knew the truth.

As the months went by, her mother's condition slowly improved, and her strength returned. Isolde couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude and relief, knowing that she had provided the funds to cover their medical expenses.

Isolde continued her secretive work at the Pleasure Palace, and eventually, the pain and discomfort faded. Her body became accustomed to the various activities, and her mind learned to accept the shame. With time, she even grew to like and look forward to it.

The judgmental stares and whispers still haunted Isolde from her fellow townsfolk, who viewed her as a woman of ill repute. But the money she brought home was enough to provide for her family and ensure their well-being. And that was all that mattered to her.

It was just another ordinary morning, bathed in the warm embrace of the sun while the sweet melodies of birds filled the air. Isolde stood outside her modest home, her fingers dancing quickly as she scrubbed her younger siblings' clothes. Her mind was a whirlwind of tasks that awaited her on this day.

As Isolde focused on her work, her eyes were suddenly drawn to a movement in the distance. A woman was pulling the sled and headed towards the dense forest, her shimmering silver hair trailing behind her. She appeared to be in a hurry as if she were running from something.

The woman was hauling her daughter in a large sled, the weight slowing her pace. She looked desperate, her expression one of fear and anxiety.

Recognition dawned upon Isolde; it was Nivalis, the Haldor's wife. A surge of empathy rose inside her as she watched Nivalis's desperate escape. The exhaustion and fear in Nivalis's face, her eyes darting from side to side, her body tense as if she were afraid that someone was watching her.

Isolde couldn't help but recall the distressing memory of the times she had seen Nivalis bearing the marks of Haldor's cruelty. It was the painful sight of the constant bruises on her face and body, the telltale signs of relentless beatings.

Isolde knew that Nivalis's existence was a daily struggle. The memory of Nivalis's pale cheek, often adorned with fresh and fading bruises, was etched in Isolde's mind. Those marks were a stark reminder of the physical torment that Nivalis endured regularly.

But it was not just the physical violence that Haldor inflicted upon his wife. He was known to verbally abuse her, degrading her and diminishing her spirit with his harsh words. He seemed to enjoy reducing her to a state of helplessness and submission.

Unfortunately, no one could help Nivalis. She was trapped in a cycle of abuse and dependency. After all, she was an elf. No one in the community would dare speak up in defense of the elf, let alone stand against the Haldor.

Tears welled up in Isolde's eyes as she stood there, watching Nivalis's figure grow smaller and smaller until it vanished into the depths of the forest. A deep ache settled in her heart as she realized that this might be the last time she would ever see Nivalis alive. The odds of survival in that unforgiving forest were slim, even for someone as determined as Nivalis.

Haldor, her husband, was a skilled hunter who knew those woods like the back of his hand. He would likely track her down if Nivalis wouldn't put some distance between herself and the town. And when he does, Haldor would not tolerate his wife's disobedience.

The weight of these thoughts pressed heavily on Isolde's shoulders as she continued with her chores. She couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness, the desire to do something, anything to help Nivalis. But there was nothing she could do to help.

 She could only hope that somehow, against all odds, Nivalis would find a way to escape her husband and find a better life for herself and her daughter.

The sun was setting over the town, casting long shadows across the ground. The sky was painted with warm colors of orange, red, and pink, and the air was filled with the scent of wood smoke and pine.

Isolde's body was heavy with fatigue after a day of tireless chores. Her feet throbbed, and her fingers ached from hours of scrubbing and washing. Taking a much-needed break, she sat on her porch, letting her thoughts wander towards her beloved family.

As the sun's glow dimmed, a figure gradually took shape in the distance, becoming more apparent with each approaching step. Isolde squinted her eyes, trying to identify the person. She caught her breath as she recognized the silhouette and movements. It was Haldor, their neighbor and Nivalis's husband.

Isolde's stomach churned with anxiety, and her heart raced as she observed Haldor's unsteady approach to his house. He clutched a bottle of ale tightly, and his eyes lacked focus. The mere sight of him sent a shiver down Isolde's spine.

She knew that If Haldor found out about Nivalis's absence, he would surely set out to find her without delay, and Isolde couldn't bear the thought of what might happen to Nivalis. Isolde couldn't let that happen. Though the odds were stacked against Nivalis, Isolde was determined to do something, anything, to help her.

Isolde's mind raced, the weight of her options pressing down on her. Should she try to reason with him? Or would it be wiser to distract him somehow?

Her heart hammered in her chest, and her palms grew sweaty as Haldor drew closer. Her mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions, and the pressure was almost unbearable.

As Haldor staggered towards his front door, Isolde mustered up the courage to speak.

— "Haldor," she called out.

Haldor stopped, his bloodshot eyes turning towards her.

"Yes, what is it?" he grumbled, his speech slurred.

— "I, uh," Isolde hesitated, her throat dry.

"Spit it out, woman," Haldor snarled, his patience waning.

With trembling muscles and a surge of nervous energy, Isolde approached Haldor. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she asked, — "Are you... alright?" Her tone was gentle and calming.

Haldor looked at her with a questioning look, yet the effects of the drink clouded his gaze. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his words slurred and barely intelligible.

The scent of ale clung to Haldor's breath, and his gaze was cloudy. Isolde realized she needed to take a bold step if she wanted to help Nivalis. Even though she didn't have to do it, she wanted to do something. It was a simple act of a good deed to a person she barely knew. Maybe one day it will return to her? 

It was a risky move, but it was one of the few things she could do to distract him. One thing she is good at.

With a gentle touch, Isolde laid her hand on Haldor's arm, her fingers lingering on his skin. She sensed his body tensing beneath her touch, and she could see the hunger and desire in his eyes.

— "Perhaps we should go somewhere more... private," she murmured, her voice soft and inviting. She whispered, her voice gentle and enticing. Isolde knew she was playing a dangerous game, but there seemed to be no other way.

Haldor's eyes widened, and he gazed at her in astonishment. Isolde knew she had his attention now.

Isolde's fingers traced small circles on Haldor's forearm, her touch sending shivers through his body. His breathing became heavier, and his pulse quickened. Isolde could feel the tension growing between them, a palpable and electric energy.

Her gaze shifted to the bottle of ale in Haldor's hand, her mind calculating how much liquid was left in the container.

— "What do you say?" she purred, her words dripping with lust and desire. "Why don't we finish that drink inside, and then..." she trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Haldor's eyes remained fixed on Isolde's face, his expression mixed with lust and unease. He was caught in a tug-of-war between his desire and his apprehension, and his body couldn't help but respond to Isolde's advances.

She continued her teasing, her hands exploring his chest and sliding down to his abdomen, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt.

"I... don't have much coin," Haldor mumbled, his voice laden with desire.

— "How much do you have?" Isolde asked, her tone teasing.

Haldor reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of coins. "This is all I have," he admitted, his voice tinged with a touch of embarrassment.

Isolde carefully received the coins from Haldor's outstretched hand, concealing them in her pocket. She couldn't help but flash a sly, seductive smile and said, — "Well, today is your lucky day," she purred, "I've got a special discount, just for you."

Haldor's eyes widened with excitement, and his breathing quickened. Isolde knew she had him right where she wanted him.

Without wasting a moment, Isolde seized his hand and led him towards her barn, located right next to her home. She guided him towards the barn entrance, her voice soft and coaxing.— "Why don't we head inside the barn?" she suggested, her hand gently tugging him forward.

Haldor followed her willingly, his body trembling with anticipation and desire.

Once inside the barn, the unmistakable scents of hay and animal dung enveloped them, creating a stark contrast to the cool and crisp evening air outside. The dimly lit barn gave their encounter an air of secrecy and sensuality.

—"Lie down on that hay bale over there," Isolde instructed, pointing to a comfortable mound of hay. Haldor complied, reclining on the soft hay. He watched with bated breath as Isolde began to shed her clothing, her skilled fingers slowly revealing her pale, silken skin.

As the night wore on, Isolde kept Haldor occupied, making sure to keep him inside the barn. She knew that the longer she kept him there, the more time Nivalis would have. As the stars glimmered in the night sky, the moon bathing the town in its silver light, the two spent the night in the barn. Their bodies intertwined, their cries of passion echoing through the darkness.