A chill ran through her bones, rough and unyielding, sinking through her skin. Darla's eyes fluttered open, struggling to adjust to a dim, damp darkness. She shivered, instantly aware of the ache in her muscles and the biting cold pressing against her. This was not the sterile, sterile hospital bed she had left behind. This wasn't even death, she realized in confusion, her body rigid with the ache of survival. She blinked, peering into the shadows around her, as her muddled senses slowly started to make sense of the alien surroundings.
She was sitting, no—slumped, on a hard, uneven floor, surrounded by bars on all sides. An iron cage. Darla's pulse quickened, her hand moving to touch the thin, brittle fabric covering her body. Rags, not even worthy of being called clothing, wrapped around her in filthy layers, and her hands and feet were stained with grime and caked in mud. Panic tightened her throat as her fingers drifted up to touch her face, covered in a sticky layer of dirt and something that smelled faintly like… blood?
Her heart thundered as she pieced together where she was, or rather, what she was in. She pulled her legs up, curling her arms around her knees, only to realize that the familiar shape of her body felt different—smaller, somehow, and weaker.
"Hey," a rough voice hissed beside her. Darla turned, feeling the scratch of something heavy around her neck. A thick iron collar, cold and unforgiving, sat against her skin. She squinted, her gaze meeting the sunken face of a girl around her age, eyes haunted and hollow with despair. Her clothes were nothing more than scraps like Darla's own, and her dark, matted hair barely concealed the bruises and dirt covering her skin. The girl tilted her head, pity and faint curiosity in her gaze. "First time waking up, isn't it? You'll get used to it." Her voice was rough, stripped of warmth, almost as if hope had long since been choked out of her.
"What…" Darla's voice came out in a croak, her throat dry as sand. She swallowed, her words barely louder than a whisper. "Where am I?"
"You're in the East Cage," the girl replied flatly, glancing away as if the answer were obvious. "They bring us here when we're ready to be sold." She cast a wary glance at Darla. "What's your name? Not that it matters much here."
Darla hesitated. She almost wanted to say "Darla" aloud, but a strange instinct tugged at her, something not her own. The name Amy drifted to her mind, and without understanding why, she said, "Amy. My name is Amy."
The name felt strange on her tongue, foreign yet familiar, like a memory trapped in someone else's voice. Fragments of another life began to filter through her mind, merging with her own memories in a dizzying whirl. She saw a small village—muddy streets, wooden cottages crumbling from years of neglect, and children laughing barefoot in the fields. A hard life, but not one without moments of warmth. Amy was an orphan, like her. Just a girl from a village on the edge of nowhere, taken from her home, traded like a possession, and left to wither in the hands of strangers.
Darla closed her eyes, feeling Amy's memories thread through her mind, mingling with her own until it became impossible to tell where Darla ended and Amy began. She felt a quiet fury spark in her, a silent scream buried deep in her chest. Amy hadn't deserved this, just as she herself hadn't deserved to be torn apart by disease. Yet here she was, given a second chance in a body that held so much pain and so much promise.
Just then, the clanking of iron rang out, a sound that made every girl in the cage flinch. Two men stomped into the cramped, cold space, their muddy boots splattering against the wet ground. One of them was tall and lean, his face twisted with a crooked smirk, while the other was broad-shouldered, with scars crisscrossing his arms as if he'd been in a hundred fights. Darla felt herself shrink back, instinctively gripping the bars behind her.
"All right, vermin," the taller man sneered, his eyes scanning the cage's miserable occupants with a look of disdain. "On your feet! Auction's starting, and we need you all looking somewhat…presentable." The other man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a chill down Darla's spine.
The other girls around her scrambled to their feet, weary and defeated, like they'd done this a hundred times. Darla hesitated for a heartbeat before following suit, her limbs trembling with weakness, unfamiliar with this body's limits. The tall man's eyes fell on her, his sneer twisting into a mocking grin. "Look at this one, all wide-eyed and fresh. You're in for a rough time, girlie. Might want to toughen up if you plan to last."
He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her toward the cage's door with a brutal strength that made her wince. Darla clenched her teeth, feeling the urge to fight back rise within her, but she quickly tamped it down. She couldn't afford to draw attention to herself—not when she barely understood this world or what she was doing here.
The men herded the girls out of the cage and into the bleak gray courtyard beyond. It was a desolate space, surrounded by towering stone walls that blocked out any sign of hope or escape. Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting a gloomy pall over the scene as cold raindrops began to splatter on their faces. Darla shivered, her bare feet sinking into the mud as they were lined up, each girl looking as wretched and broken as the last.
Ahead, a small platform stood, a simple structure of wood with a crude stage and a railing. Men in long, dark cloaks gathered around, some muttering to each other while others watched the girls with a keen, unsettling interest. A shiver ran through Darla as she took in their faces—predatory, cold, and calculating, like wolves sizing up their prey.
As she stood there, shivering under the icy rain, Darla's gaze drifted to the faces of her fellow captives. Some girls looked barely thirteen, while others were closer to her own age, faces haggard and hollow, their spirits shattered long before they'd stepped into this courtyard. Despite her own fear, Darla felt a surge of fierce protectiveness, a fire that stirred in her chest as she looked at them. These girls, discarded by the world and swallowed by the cruelty of men, deserved a champion. And if she had been given this strange, miraculous second chance, perhaps it was to make use of it—to fight, to survive, and to somehow bring justice to Amy, the girl whose life she had now claimed.
As the bidding began, Darla's green eyes glinted beneath the dirt and shadows. Hidden beneath the mud, covered in bruises and grime, a spark of her own strength—the resilience that had seen her through her own struggles—began to emerge. She would survive this, learn everything she could, and find a way to escape.