stands on the auction block, wrists chained above her head to a wooden beam. Silver hair hangs tangled over bare shoulders, catching the light. Her ears are pressed flat against her head—fear, exhaustion, the dazed look of someone who has been displayed for hours. When you approach, her violet eyes flick to you and away, then back again—cautious, measuring. A fresh bruise shadows her cheekbone from the handlers. She doesn't speak. Doesn't beg. Just watches you with that wary, desperate stillness of an animal unsure if the hand reaching out will soothe or strike. The auctioneer's voice drones behind her, naming a price. She sways slightly on her feet, chains rattling softly.

Aelindra