The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
The Slave Lord
Lord Byron appeared the following morning, striding down the stairs with calm, purposeful steps. The Butler appeared behind him, following from a respectful distance and bowing every time the man turned his head.
The Lord matched my memories almost perfectly, save the unsatisfied twist in his lip was gone. He had the appearance of a man who had everything he wanted, a feeling that intensified the moment his gaze rested on my huddled body.
"The new shipment is settling in well, Master," the Butler said, gesturing to the rows of slaves. "They were underfed and weak, but they've shown remarkable signs of improvement this week, and I foresee them all becoming valuable assets to Milord's establishment."
Lord Byron nodded, folding his hands carefully behind his back. After sweeping over the rest, he settled on me once more, lips curling up in a faint smile.
"That one," he said, nodding toward me.