As the wagon rolled out of the stone courtyard and onto the main road, Darla allowed herself a quick glance outside. This was her first true look at the world she was now a part of, and she took in every detail, trying to piece together what kind of place it was. Her life had changed overnight, and though fear simmered beneath the surface, her curiosity burned even brighter. She would need every scrap of information she could gather.
The buildings were unmistakably Victorian—gothic structures with intricate facades, tall windows, and pointed roofs. But the details were… wrong. Where she might have expected brick or plain stone, some buildings gleamed with strange, glimmering metals, adorned with symbols she didn't recognize. People roamed the streets, but they dressed as though they'd stepped from the pages of an illustrated fantasy, clothed in flowing gowns of dark velvets and iridescent silks, or in coats with countless buttons and high collars.
Some women passed in glittering ball gowns, even in the daylight, their eyes lined with kohl and hair pinned up with silver and gemstones. There were others—figures wearing masks that covered half their faces, with hats and gloves dyed in brilliant, unnatural hues. Everything felt exaggerated, mysterious. A man with hair the color of cobalt blue strode by, his eyes a piercing shade of gold, chatting with a vendor who sported a mane of emerald-green hair. Colors that would have looked outlandish in her old world seemed to blend seamlessly here, as though this place operated under entirely different rules.
But the strange colors weren't the only oddities. Traders lined the streets, their stalls cluttered with peculiar wares. Some sold small bottles of liquid that shimmered in hues she'd never seen, vials that glowed softly in the shadows of their stalls. She saw weapons forged in strange designs, crafted with metals she didn't recognize—daggers twisted like spirals, blades etched with what looked like glowing runes. Objects she couldn't even identify were displayed on tables, and customers seemed to haggle over them as if they knew exactly what they were for.
Darla pressed her face closer to the wagon's small opening, trying to absorb it all. She watched as people haggled over bizarre trinkets—rings with pulsing stones, pendants shaped like ancient symbols, and even small cages holding tiny creatures that emitted faint lights. Everything was foreign, intoxicating in its strangeness.
But as the wagon rolled along, the street changed gradually, the bustling atmosphere of the marketplace fading into something grimmer. The buildings grew closer together, their walls stained with soot and grime, the ornate facades replaced with crumbling brick and broken windows. She caught glimpses of gaunt figures in alleyways, their eyes hollow as they watched the world pass them by. Children with dirty faces played in the streets, their laughter brittle, while ragged figures huddled together, barely glancing at the wagon as it passed. This was a stark contrast to the luxury of the other side—a world divided by wealth, and the difference was jarring.
Soon, the wagon moved into another part of town, where the streets grew wider and the buildings grander. Here, cobblestones gleamed as if polished, the grime and clutter from the poorer streets nowhere in sight. The people in this district carried themselves with a haughty confidence, their clothes richly embroidered, their skin glowing with health. Even from within the wagon, Darla could sense the aura of wealth and privilege that permeated the air. She felt a familiar disgust twist inside her. This was a city of stark divides, a place where power and wealth carved out invisible walls between people.
Finally, the wagon came to a stop with a sudden jolt, jolting her out of her thoughts. She steadied herself, casting a glance at the girls around her, who clutched each other for support. Outside, she could see the building they had arrived at, and a cold sense of dread settled in her stomach.
The building towered above them, casting long shadows over the courtyard. It was not what she'd expected a brothel to look like. She'd assumed it would be a dingy, decrepit place, with narrow windows and faded paint. Instead, the structure before her was imposing and elegant, almost like a mansion. Arched windows lined the building, their panes stained with rich, dark colors that threw an array of shapes onto the ground below. Carvings adorned the stone walls—delicate designs of roses and thorned vines, winding around the windows and doors.
A grand sign above the door read *Elige Desiderium,* and beneath it, in smaller letters, *The Chosen Desire.*
She could hear the guards talking outside, their voices low but firm, and she caught snippets of their words.
"Get them inside," one guard said, his tone sharp. "The Madam doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"New batch, all for the elites," another guard murmured, his voice heavy with implication. "Fresh stock. They'll be well-fed… for now."
The wagon's doors were wrenched open, the guards yanked the girls out of the wagon, a wave of fear washed over the group. Several girls began to murmur in panicked voices, their words barely audible as they clutched each other for comfort. The weight of their terror settled like a heavy fog, stifling the air. Some of the younger ones started to cry, their soft sobs breaking the silence. A few tried to resist, shrinking back against the wagon, but the guards showed no mercy, grabbing their arms roughly and dragging them forward.
Darla gritted her teeth as she felt a hand shove her forward, but she kept her head down, forcing herself to remain calm. She had no intention of resisting, not yet. Each step toward the building was an opportunity to observe, to memorize her surroundings. Her gaze remained cast downward, her body slouched in the feigned frailty of her new role, but her mind was alert, noting every detail she could.
The grand entrance loomed before them, the heavy doors pulled open by two guards with stiff, formal expressions. Inside, the building was even more lavish than she'd expected. The floors gleamed, polished to perfection, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air. *Elige Desiderium* was unlike any brothel she'd ever imagined. The opulent décor suggested wealth and luxury; the girls who would serve here, though slaves, would be kept like jewels to be flaunted.
The guards wasted no time, herding the girls toward a set of stairs tucked away in the shadows. The staircase was narrow, winding steeply upwards, and it was clear this was a path meant to be hidden from view. Darla could hear muffled sounds echoing from beyond the walls—laughter, snippets of conversation, the occasional clinking of glasses. She stole a sidelong glance as they passed an arched doorway and glimpsed a room filled with men lounging on velvet sofas, women draped around them like ornaments. Her heart hardened as she took in the scene, the easy laughter of the men contrasting sharply with the fearful silence of the girls around her.
They continued up, the guards barking at them to keep moving, to be quiet. Darla counted the floors in her mind, marking each turn of the staircase as they climbed higher. Six floors in total, she noted. She tried to imagine what might lie on each level, wondering if there were hidden routes or escape routes, anything she might use to her advantage.
Finally, they reached the top floor, where the guards led them down a short hallway. At the end stood a door, ornately carved, a stark contrast to the coldness of the staircase. This was, no doubt, the office of the Madam. She could feel the tension heighten around her, the shuffling of feet as the other girls shifted nervously. The air was thick with dread, and a few girls whimpered as they neared the door.
But before they could enter, one of the guards stopped, sniffing with a look of disdain. "Look at them," he muttered to another guard, gesturing at their dirty clothes and matted hair. "The Madam will have our heads if we bring them in like this."
The other guard nodded, agreeing. "We'll put them in the waiting room. Let them clean up a bit first. She won't want to see them in this state."
With a rough push, the girls were directed down a side hallway, then into a smaller, dimly lit room. Darla stumbled slightly as she was shoved through the doorway, but she caught herself, keeping her expression blank. The room smelled damp, and there were several buckets of murky water on the floor along with rags. Clearly, they were expected to clean themselves up here before meeting the Madam.
Darla glanced around the room, her eyes taking in every corner, every shadow. There were no windows, and the walls were plain, bare stone. She noticed the guards outside the door, watching them with indifferent expressions. No chance of escaping from here, at least not yet.
As the other girls began to timidly pick up the rags, wiping their faces and hands, Darla followed suit, keeping her head down. She moved slowly, her motions deliberate, trying to buy herself as much time as possible. Every detail mattered, every bit of information could make a difference. She noticed the guards exchanged a few quiet words, their voices low but filled with a tone of finality.
The girls cleaned themselves as best as they could, the rags barely removing the layers of dirt and grime. They looked at each other, their faces a mix of dread and resignation. Darla could feel their collective fear, the hopelessness sinking into the air, but she refused to let herself be swept away by it. This was just another challenge, another test of endurance.
A few minutes later, the door swung open, and the guards gestured for them to line up. Darla kept her head down, falling into place with the others. Her hands clenched tightly, hidden within the folds of her dirty rags, but her mind remained steady. Whatever lay beyond that door, she would face it.