The Pink Room was anything but soothing. The name had been chosen mockingly by its designer—a noble who thought it poetic to house slaves in a chamber painted with soft hues, as if color alone could mask the atrocities committed there. The faint rose-colored walls were cracked and stained, a testament to years of torment. Dim lanterns hung from corroded hooks, casting flickering shadows that danced like silent witnesses to the horrors within.
Serena sat on the cold, damp floor, her wrists raw from the heavy iron shackles. Around her, other slaves murmured softly, their voices trailing off as a hissing sound filled the room. She knew what came next. The Night Time Pot, as they called it, was a pipe system hidden in the walls, releasing a sweet-smelling gas that lulled the slaves into unconsciousness.
The air grew heavier with each passing moment, and soon the others began to collapse, their breathing steadying into a forced slumber. But Serena fought it. She focused on her rage, her humiliation, her will to survive. She pinched the inside of her arm until it bled, using the pain to stay awake.
Through the haze of the dim light, she heard footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and far too familiar.
The door creaked open, and Theorin stepped in. The prince of Pashadom, heir to one of the most powerful nations in the region, looked as he always did—pristine. His long blond hair was tied neatly behind his head, and his muscular form was draped in a silk robe that shimmered with each step. But his eyes betrayed him. They were cold, dead things that glinted with malice as he scanned the room.
Serena closed her eyes, feigning sleep, her heart pounding so loudly she feared he might hear it.
"Disgusting little worms," Theorin muttered under his breath as he walked past the sleeping slaves. His boots clicked against the stone floor, stopping in front of Serena. "And you…" His voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
A sharp pain exploded in Serena's side as his boot connected with her ribs. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out, tasting blood.
"You think you're better than this, don't you?" he sneered, kicking her again. This time, the force of the blow knocked her onto her side. She stayed limp, her breathing steady, willing herself to remain still.
Theorin undressed himself, "You're nothing, do you hear me? Just another piece of property. Another tool to remind the world of my power." He inserted his dick inside Serena, and started thrusting her.
"You'll break eventually. They all do." He cummed in Serena. "This room has a way of reminding people of their place."
He straightened, adjusting his robe as if the encounter had been nothing more than an inconvenience. "Enjoy your stay, Ignis courtesan," he spat the title mockingly before turning and leaving the room.
The door slammed shut behind him, and Serena lay there, trembling, the pain in her side radiating with each breath.
For several moments, she didn't move. Her body ached, her mind raced, and the words he had spat at her echoed in her ears. But as the gas continued to fill the room, she found her resolve hardening. She wouldn't break. Not for Theorin. Not for anyone.
The pink walls seemed to shimmer in the faint light as her vision blurred. Exhausted and beaten, Serena finally let the tears come. But even as they fell, she promised herself one thing.
One day, these walls would crumble, and Theorin would fall with them.