Elian's body jolted awake, every muscle in his body aching from the torment of the previous day.
The cold stone floor beneath him offered no comfort, and the thin blanket he had been given was more of an insult than a source of warmth.
He had barely slept, his mind haunted by the memories of his past life and the cruel twist of fate that had brought him here.
As he sat up, groggy and disoriented, a loud bell rang out, shattering the early morning silence and signaling the start of his new reality.
The door to the small, dark room where he had been locked up for the night swung open with a loud creak.
A tall, stern-faced woman with sharp features and an expression of permanent displeasure stood in the doorway, her cold eyes boring into Elian as if she could see straight through to his soul.
She was dressed in a severe black gown that clung to her thin frame, and her hair was pulled back so tightly that it seemed to stretch the skin of her forehead.
"Up," she snapped, her voice harsh and commanding. "You're expected to be on your feet when I enter, not wallowing in filth like the dog you are."
Elian scrambled to his feet, his heart racing as he stood before the woman. She looked him over with a disdainful sneer, her eyes narrowing as if she was sizing him up, calculating how much work it would take to break him.
"Welcome to the Velvet Moon Pavilion," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Where you will be trained, molded, and shaped into something that might one day be worth the price we paid for you. You may think you've seen cruelty in your life, but you know nothing of what true suffering is. That ends today."
Elian's stomach churned with dread as the woman gestured for him to follow.
He was led out of the cell and into a long corridor, dimly lit by flickering torches mounted on the walls.
The air was thick with the scent of perfume, mixed with the faint, underlying odor of something far less pleasant.
As they walked, Elian's eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings.
The Pavilion was a place of twisted riches, where every surface was adorned with rich fabrics, glittering chandeliers, and ornate decorations.
But beneath the luxurious exterior, there was an unmistakable aura of despair, as if the very walls were soaked with the suffering of those who had been trapped here before him.
The woman led Elian to a large room where several others, young men and women of varying ages, were already lined up.
Their faces were blank, their eyes hollow, as if they had resigned themselves to whatever fate awaited them.
Elian hesitated for a moment before taking his place in the line, his heart pounding in his chest.
The room was grand, with high ceilings and large windows that allowed the pale morning light to filter in.
But the grandeur did little to mask the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the place.
A large mirror covered one wall, reflecting the line of frightened and uncertain faces back at them.
Elian caught his own reflection and barely recognized the person staring back at him. His clothes, ragged and dirty, hung loosely on his frame, and his face was pale, gaunt, and filled with a fear he could not hide.
"Listen up, all of you!" the woman barked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"My name is Madame Havelle, and I am the head instructor here at the Pavilion. You will address me as 'Madame' and nothing else. Is that clear?"
A murmur of acknowledgment passed through the group, though it was more out of fear than understanding.
"Here in the Pavilion, you are no longer who you were before," Madame Havelle continued, pacing back and forth in front of them with a predatory grace.
"Your past lives, your names, your identities, none of that matters anymore. You belong to the Pavilion now. Your only purpose is to please the patrons who will pay handsomely for your services. Failure to do so will not be tolerated."
Elian felt a chill run down his spine at her words. The finality of it all, the stripping away of his identity, felt like a death sentence.
Madame Havelle stopped in front of Elian, her eyes narrowing as she looked him over once more. "You there," she said, pointing a bony finger at him. "What is your name?"
"Elian," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
Madame Havelle's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Not anymore. From this moment on, you are to be known only by the name we assign you. You will answer to it, and you will forget any name you had before. Is that understood?"
Elian swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Yes, Madame," he forced out, his voice trembling.
"Good," she said, moving on to the next person in line. "Obedience is the first and most important rule you will learn here. Disobedience will be met with punishment, and trust me when I say that punishment here is severe."
As she continued down the line, Madame Havelle laid out the rules in chilling detail.
The trainees were to rise at dawn every day, wash and dress in the garments provided, and present themselves for training without ddelay
Meals were a privilege, not a right, and could be withheld as punishment.
Any sign of defiance or resistance would be crushed swiftly and mercilessly.
"The training you will undergo is designed to mold you into the perfect courtesan," Madame Havelle explained.
"You will learn how to please men in every way imaginable. You will be taught how to move, how to speak, how to look, and how to act. Your body will no longer belong to you, but to those who can afford to buy it. And you will do all of this with a smile on your face, because the alternative is something far worse than anything you can imagine."
Elian's heart sank further with each word. The reality of his situation was sinking in, and with it came a wave of despair. The life he had known, the struggles he had fought through, all seemed like a distant dream compared to the nightmare he was now living.
As the instructions continued, Elian couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness wash over hhim
But beneath that despair was a flicker of something else, anger. How had he ended up here?
His life had been one of suffering from the beginning, but this… this was something entirely different. He had no idea how he would survive, but he knew that he had to. He couldn't give in, not yet.
"Remember," Madame Havelle said, her voice taking on a more sinister tone, "the Pavilion may look like a place of luxury and decadence, but it is a prison, and you are its prisoners. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life here will be."
With that, Madame Havelle clapped her hands, and several other instructors entered the rroom
Each one was assigned a group of trainees, and Elian found himself paired with a tall, muscular man with a face like stone.
The man grabbed Elian by the arm and led him to a smaller room off to the side, where his real training would begin.
The room was stark, with only a bed, a small table, and a mirror. The man pushed Elian inside and shut the door behind them. "Strip," he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Elian hesitated for a moment, but the man's stern glare left no room for argument. Slowly, he began to remove his clothes, feeling more vulnerable with each piece that fell to the floor.
When he was finally naked, the man circled him, inspecting every inch of his body as if he were nothing more than a piece of meat.
"You will learn to use this," the man said coldly, gesturing to Elian's body. "Every part of it. You will learn how to please men in ways you never imagined. You will learn how to pour wine with grace, how to dance with elegance, how to seduce with just a glance. And if you fail, you will be punished. Do you understand?"
Elian nodded, his throat tight with fear.
The man's eyes bored into him. "Good. Because if you think what you've been through so far is bad, you haven't seen anything yet."