Akita lay on the cold, hard floor of her cell, the sting of the master's whip still fresh on her back. Her body ached, but her spirit remained unbroken. Sela, her cellmate, watched her with a mixture of irritation and begrudging respect. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the walls, creating an eerie dance that mirrored the turmoil within Akita's mind.
"You're strong, Akita," Sela began, her voice a low murmur. "Strong but foolish. If you want to get out of here, you need to think beyond brute force."
Akita turned her head to look at Sela, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"
Sela sighed, leaning back against the wall. "You need to be sold. It's your best chance. If you're transferred to a different estate, you might find an opportunity to escape. But you can't keep trying to run away from here. The master will never let you go to auction willingly, not with your reputation."
Akita's heart sank. The idea of being sold again filled her with dread. She had been through it before, branded and traded like livestock, each time returning to this hellhole. "And how am I supposed to get to an auction if the master hates me so much?"
Sela smirked, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "You need to play the game. Behave, do your duties, and make him think you've given up. Let him believe you've been broken. It's the only way he'll consider selling you."
Akita's jaw clenched. The thought of submitting, even pretending to submit, was repulsive. But Sela's words held truth. The master's patience was thin, and his hatred for Akita was palpable. He would never willingly let her go unless he believed she was no longer a threat.
Days turned into weeks as Akita grudgingly followed Sela's advice. She performed her duties without complaint, enduring the grueling labor and the harsh treatment from the guards. She kept her head down, swallowing her pride and biding her time. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she knew it was necessary. If she truly wanted to leave the estate she would have to obey and follow the rules like everyone else. She's put up a fight for so long that she almost forget what it felt like to bring down her walls.
The master watched her closely, his suspicion evident. He was a cruel man, his temper as unpredictable as the wind. But Akita's newfound obedience seemed to pacify him, at least for the moment. He still regarded her with disdain, but there was a flicker of consideration in his eyes.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the estate in an orange glow, the master called Akita to his quarters. She entered with her head bowed, her heart pounding in her chest. Every time her heart pounded she was nervous as she wondered what would happen now.
"I hear you've been behaving," he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Trying to convince me you're ready to be sold?"
Akita kept her gaze fixed on the floor. "Yes, master. I have learned my place."
The master circled her, his eyes searching for any sign of defiance. "You think I'm a fool, don't you? You think you can deceive me."
"No, master," Akita replied, her voice steady. "I have no intention of deceiving you. I only wish to be of use where I am needed."
He sneered, but there was a glimmer of intrigue in his expression. "We'll see about that. The auction on the north side of the mainland is in two weeks. If you prove yourself until then, I might consider it."
Akita's heart leaped. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. She returned to her cell, where Sela awaited her with a raised eyebrow.
"Well?" Sela asked.
Akita nodded. "He said he'll consider it. There's an auction in two weeks."
Sela's lips curled into a rare smile. "Good. Now, we wait. And when the time comes, you seize your chance. Remember, strength isn't just in your muscles. It's in your mind."
The days leading up to the auction were a blur of anticipation and dread. Akita continued to perform her duties, each task a step closer to potential freedom. The master watched her with wary eyes, still doubtful but less hostile.
On the morning of the auction, Akita was shackled and led to the transport wagon. The weight of the chains was a familiar burden, but this time, it carried a glimmer of hope. As the wagon rumbled away from the estate, Akita glanced back one last time. She knew the road ahead would be fraught with danger, but her resolve was unwavering.
All the slaves entered into a private tent as they got ready for the auction,the master told her that they must all look their best. He hand-picked the finest craftswoman for such a task as they were skilled in making clothes based on looks.
The women were experienced in their craft, and their movements were practiced and efficient. They worked in silence, their expressions impassive as they dressed Akita in a semi-naked tribal outfit designed to lure and persuade potential buyers. The ensemble was both provocative and regal, a calculated blend of allure and power meant to captivate the audience.
A thick, beaded necklace was draped around her neck, the colors vibrant and eye-catching against her bronzed skin. It was a symbol of her tribal heritage, a reminder of the life she had once known in the forest. The beads clinked softly as she moved, a subtle yet constant reminder of her current predicament.
Her top was a scant piece of leather, intricately designed with tribal patterns and adorned with feathers and small bones. It barely covered her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. The garment was fastened with delicate strings that crisscrossed her back, emphasizing the curve of her spine and the smoothness of her skin.
The lower half of her attire consisted of a short, tattered skirt made from animal hides and woven fabric. It hung low on her hips, the fringes swaying with her every movement. The skirt was adorned with beads and small charms, which jingled softly as she shifted her weight. Her legs were left mostly bare, accentuated by the soft glow of the lanterns in the room.
As a final touch, the women painted intricate designs on her skin using natural dyes. The patterns were a mix of tribal symbols and flowing lines, each stroke a testament to her origins. The paint was cool against her skin, the brush strokes gentle yet purposeful. They painted her face, arms, and legs, transforming her into a living canvas.
Throughout the process, Akita's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Her only goal was to get out of the estate, to escape the suffocating control of the auction and return to her life in the forest. She knew that the auction was her best chance at freedom, even if it meant being sold to a new owner. She had to play the part, to appear desirable and submissive, all the while plotting her escape.
The women stepped back, their work complete. Akita glanced at herself in the mirror, her reflection both familiar and foreign. She looked every bit the exotic prize they wanted her to be, her appearance carefully crafted to entice and seduce. Her eyes, however, held a different story—a glint of defiance and determination that belied her outward appearance.
One of the women, an older matron with a stern expression, stepped forward and adjusted Akita's necklace. "Remember," she said, her voice low and serious, "you must appeal to the buyers. Show them your beauty, your grace. But don't forget your place."
Akita nodded, biting back a retort. She knew the stakes. She had to play her role perfectly, to draw the eyes of the wealthiest bidders. The more interested they were, the higher her chances of being sold to someone who might be less vigilant, giving her an opportunity to escape.
The auction grounds were a cacophony of noise and chaos. Slaves were herded onto platforms, their value assessed by prospective buyers. Akita stood among them, her eyes scanning the crowd. She was determined to seize any opportunity that presented itself.
The master stood nearby, his eyes never leaving her. He still doubted her, still believed she would be returned immediately. But Akita was ready. She had endured the worst and emerged stronger. As the auctioneer's voice rang out, calling for bids, Akita's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
This was her chance. Her chance to escape, to reclaim her freedom, to defy the chains that bound her. And she would not let it slip through her fingers.