Elian woke to the cold, harsh light of dawn filtering through the narrow window of his cell.
The brief respite of sleep had done little to ease the exhaustion weighing down his body. His muscles ached from the relentless drills, his mind numb from the monotony of it all. But the worst was yet to come, and he knew it.
The door to his cell creaked open, revealing the familiar, stern face of Madame Havelle. She stood in the doorway, her sharp eyes scanning Elian with a mixture of disdain and expectation. "Up," she ordered, her voice cold and detached. "It's time for your lessons."
Elian dragged himself out of bed, his limbs heavy with fatigue. He had no choice but to comply.
Disobedience was not an option, not if he wanted to avoid the brutal consequences he had already seen first-hand.
He followed Madame Havelle down the dimly lit corridor, his heart pounding in his chest as he anticipated the horrors that awaited him.
They entered a large room, luxuriously decorated with rich curtains and plush furniture.
But the lavish surroundings did nothing to disguise the true nature of the place, a training room designed to break and mold him into something else, something unrecognizable.
Waiting for him in the center of the room were three instructors, all of them former courtesans, their expressions hard and unyielding.
They were dressed in elegant robes, their postures poised and controlled, but there was a coldness in their eyes that sent a shiver down Elian's spine.
"Today," one of the instructors began, her voice smooth and practiced, "you will begin your lessons in the art of pleasing men. Your survival in this place depends on how well you learn these skills, so I suggest you pay close attention."
Elian's stomach churned with dread, but he forced himself to stand still, his gaze fixed on the floor. He had to get through this. There was no other choice.
The first lesson was on seduction. The instructor, a tall woman with dark, penetrating eyes, walked around Elian, her gaze appraising him as if he were nothing more than a piece of meat.
"Seduction is about more than just physical appearance," she said, her tone clinical.
"It's about how you carry yourself, how you use your body to convey desire. Your eyes, your smile, your touch, everything must be deliberate, controlled, and calculated."
She demonstrated, her movements fluid and sensual as she approached one of the other instructors, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that was both alluring and intimidating.
"Like this," she said, her voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "You must make them believe that you want them, that their touch is what you crave more than anything."
Elian watched, his skin crawling with discomfort. The intimacy of the act, the sheer vulnerability it required, made his stomach twist in knots. He had never been comfortable with such things, and now he was expected to master them, to use them as a weapon.
The instructor turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "Now you try," she commanded.
Elian hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to replicate her movements, to mimic the sultry gaze she had shown him, but it felt wrong, unnatural. His body stiffened, and his expression faltered, betraying his discomfort.
The instructor's hand shot out, striking him across the face with a sharp crack. Elian staggered back, his cheek stinging from the blow.
"Pathetic," she spat, her voice laced with contempt. "You think that's how you seduce a man? You're supposed to make him feel wanted, desired. Do it again, and this time, do it right."
Elian's heart raced as he tried again, forcing his body to move in the way she had shown him, forcing his eyes to convey a desire he did not feel. But once again, he failed. His movements were awkward, his gaze unconvincing.
Another blow landed, this time on his ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Elian doubled over, gasping for breath, but the instructor showed no mercy.
"Again," she ordered, her voice like ice.
Elian tried again, his body trembling with fear and pain. Each failed attempt was met with more punishment, more blows, until his entire body ached with the effort of trying to please his instructors. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it right.
By the end of the session, Elian's body was covered in bruises, his spirit shattered. He collapsed to the floor, too exhausted to continue, but the instructors were far from done with him.
The next lesson was on how to please men in bed. The explicit nature of the instructions made Elian's skin crawl, but he had no choice but to listen, to learn, to eendure
The instructors demonstrated various techniques, forcing Elian to watch and memorize every detail, every movement. When it was his turn to practice, the degradation was complete.
Each mistake, each hesitation, was met with a slap, a kick, a sharp word meant to remind him of his place. By the time the lesson was over, Elian was barely holding on, his mind and body pushed to the brink of collapse.
The lessons continued with how to pour wine with elegance, how to dance gracefully, and how to flirt expertly to attract a customer's attention.
Each skill was taught with exacting precision, and any mistake was met with swift punishment. Elian quickly learned that his survival depended on mastering these skills and keeping his head down.
His body ached, his mind numb from the constant barrage of commands and corrections. But despite the pain, despite the humiliation, Elian forced himself to endure. He had no other choice.
As the days passed, the beatings became less frequent, not because Elian was getting better, but because his body was so battered and bruised that the instructors had to be careful not to cause permanent damage. But the verbal abuse continued, a relentless assault on his already fragile sense of self-worth.
"You'll never amount to anything," one of the instructors sneered as Elian struggled to keep up with the dance steps she was teaching him. "You're worthless, just like the rest of them."
Elian bit back a retort, knowing that any sign of defiance would only result in more punishment. But the words cut deep, feeding into the doubts and fears that had plagued him for as long as he could remember.
He had always felt like an outsider, someone who didn't belong anywhere. In his past life, he had been a street rat, scrounging for food and shelter, never knowing where his next meal would come from. And now, in this new life, he was once again an outsider, a tool to be used and discarded at the whims of others.
But despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a small spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished. Elian knew that he couldn't afford to let them break him completely. He had to survive, had to find a way to escape this nightmare.
He began to learn the rules, to anticipate the instructors' commands before they were even given. He forced himself to smile, to flirt, to dance with the grace they demanded, all while keeping his true feelings hidden deep inside.