The group of young women arrived at a large, gilded doorway, which opened into a vast dressing room. Inside, mirrored walls reflected ornate furniture and velvet-lined tables, upon which lay an array of powders, brushes, and cosmetics. It was a room designed to transform women, to turn innocence into allure. Darla took in her surroundings, assessing the tools of seduction and the system she was entering.
Lady Violet, standing at the front of the room, wore her customary scarlet gown, her gold eyes scanning the new arrivals. She began calling names, assigning each girl to a specific role. For some, it was the position of "server," tasked with attending to clients' whims and refilling drinks—not an ordinary service job, as the presence of servants in this establishment had a clear subtext. Other girls were assigned to dance or perform for the patrons, their fates clearly destined for display and amusement. The establishment, Lady Violet explained, was divided into three levels: Bronze, where the middle class came for rough and unsupervised pleasures; Silver, where the novice-rich gathered; and Gold, where the wealthiest and most powerful clients enjoyed the most exclusive services. On top of that, an elite escort agency operated out of the establishment, where high-ranking men could rent women to accompany them to events and parties.
To Darla's mild relief, she was assigned as a waitress on the Silver level—a position that could potentially shield her from the worst abuses of the Bronze level. Her background as a tycoon had hardened her, and she welcomed the chance to observe the workings of this new world up close while remaining relatively unobtrusive. For now, she could use this vantage to weigh her options and determine the likelihood of escape, or at the very least, a strategy to rise out of servitude.
As Lady Violet left, another woman stepped forward to address them—a gaunt, pale woman introduced as Miss Vrim. She was the establishment's stylist and manager, in charge of ensuring that every girl looked enticing enough to keep their patrons' attention. Miss Vrim and her assistants promptly moved through the line, distributing revealing outfits and applying makeup with a hasty but practiced hand. Each girl was dressed according to her assignment and assessed for the specific allure she might bring to the brothel's patrons.
When it was Darla's turn, she opted to dress herself, watching Miss Vrim's assistants fuss over other girls in the corner of her eye. She had decided it was time to unveil herself fully, to let her looks serve as a weapon, giving her both protection and attention she could manipulate. If she remained in the background, she might be relegated to the harshest roles, those where survival was slim and the demands endless. She had no intention of fading into obscurity.
Darla chose a fitted, black corset dress that hugged her waist and flowed down to a daring slit high on her thigh. The dress had off-shoulder ruffles, and she pinned a small black hat to the side of her bright red hair, a small yet elegant accessory that brought a hint of mystery to her look. She applied makeup with precision, painting her eyelids a smoky red that brought out the emerald green of her eyes, and finished with a bold crimson lipstick. For jewelry, she chose a red choker, adding to the aura of danger and allure she wanted to exude. She completed the look with black heels and long thigh-high stockings, a mix of elegance and fire.
As the final touches were added, she inspected herself in the mirror. In her past life, she'd used charm and intimidation alike to succeed in business, and now she'd rely on those same skills in a different way.
The room fell silent as Darla stepped out from the dressing area. Gasps followed her appearance. She noted that the reaction wasn't simply one of admiration—it was one of shock. Her vibrant red hair and striking green eyes were not features seen among ordinary humans here. Most people, as she had observed, had dark hair and more subdued eye colors. For a moment, it crossed her mind that she might be mistaken for one of the supernatural beings that frequented this place, but the faint pulse at her neck dispelled any notion of her being anything other than mortal.
Lady Violet's gaze fixed on her, the woman's face betraying only a slight raise of her eyebrows. "Darla, is it?" she asked, her tone laced with a blend of surprise and calculation.
"Yes, Lady Violet," Darla replied, stepping forward confidently and giving a small, respectful nod. She understood this was no time for false modesty.
"Who styled you?" Lady Violet questioned, her eyes sweeping over Darla's carefully curated ensemble.
Miss Vrim stepped forward defensively, her expression tight. "It wasn't me, Madam," she interjected quickly, likely fearing that Darla's unconventional look might provoke anger.
Before the situation escalated, Darla spoke up, her voice calm but firm. "It was me, Madam. I noticed the other attendants were occupied, so I took the liberty of dressing myself."
Lady Violet's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded, a small, approving smile playing on her lips. "Good instincts. And a bold choice." She turned back to the line of girls, her voice commanding. "Follow me. Your assignments await, and I expect you all to uphold our standards."
Darla noted Miss Vrim's glare, but she met it with a cool indifference. She wasn't here to make friends. She fell into line behind the other girls, deliberately placing herself at the end so she could take in more of her surroundings as they moved.
They descended to a dimly lit hallway with walls lined in dark wood and rich tapestries. At the end of the corridor stood a single black door, the back entrance leading into the main area of the brothel. Beyond it lay the Silver floor, a world catering to wealthy patrons but not quite reaching the opulence of the Gold floor.
Lady Violet stopped at the door, turning to face them one last time. "Listen carefully," she began, her voice carrying authority and a hint of warning. "On this floor, our patrons expect respect and discretion. You will follow the rules, speak only when spoken to, and refrain from any behavior that would tarnish our establishment's reputation. Understand?"
The girls nodded, their expressions grave. Lady Violet's warning hung heavy in the air.
"Another thing," she continued. "No one, under any circumstances, is to wander to other floors. Your behavior here will determine where you end up, whether that's the Gold floor with our most elite patrons or down to the Bronze, where...let's just say the clients aren't as refined. Act accordingly." She glanced meaningfully at each of them before gesturing to the door. "Now, follow my lead."
Darla's pulse quickened as the doors swung open, revealing the lavish Silver floor beyond. As they entered, the sounds of instruments floated through the air—a soft melody played by a small ensemble on a raised platform. The music was delicate yet mesmerizing, blending seamlessly with the chatter of well-dressed patrons. The Silver level patrons weren't as exclusive as those on the Gold, but their wealth and status were evident in the finely tailored suits and sparkling jewelry.
The interior was much grander than Darla had expected. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting a warm, golden light across the room. Round tables draped in rich, deep-colored cloths were arranged in clusters, each with plush velvet seats. At each table, men with discerning eyes mingled with elegantly dressed women, laughter and clinking glasses filling the space.
The girls moved into the room, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and anxiety. Darla watched as Lady Violet exchanged a few words with a tall, gray-haired man at the entryway who appeared to be the floor manager. She nodded curtly when he greeted her. "Madam Violet, good morning," he murmured with a respectful bow.
Lady Violet stepped aside, allowing the girls to scatter to their assigned posts. Darla took a deep breath, adopting a poised expression as she made her way to her position as a waitress. This was her first taste of this strange, intoxicating new world, and she knew that the future of her survival might very well rest on her ability to navigate it with both grace and strategy. She was prepared to observe every detail, search for every weakness, and play every advantage she had. For now, her greatest asset was her own resilience and the knowledge that, despite the luxury surrounding her, this was a game she intended to play—and win.