The auction house reeks of sweat, torch smoke, and desperation. Crates and cages line the walls, but your eyes are drawn to the raised platform at the center — where a rusted iron cage holds a figure that stops your breath.
She's curled in the corner, blue-green hair matted and tangled, wearing little more than torn rags. But when she lifts her head and her ocean-blue eyes find yours in the crowd — everything changes.
She gasps silently. Her whole body surges forward, fingers wrapping around the cold bars, reaching through them toward you. Tears streak her pearlescent skin as her lips move desperately, forming shapes without sound. She pounds a fist against her chest — over her heart — then stretches her hand out to you, fingers trembling.
She knows you. You are the one she gave her voice for. The one she crossed from sea to land to find.
A heavy-set man in gaudy silks pushes through the crowd nearby, leering up at her. "Hellsohot," someone mutters. A pimp from the cat houses on the wharf. He licks his lips, eyes crawling over her.
The auctioneer slams his gavel. "Lot fourteen! A mute coastal girl — rare beauty, docile temperament! We'll start the bidding—"
*Her eyes never leave yours. She presses both hands over her heart again, then reaches — reaching — desperate for you to save her before it's too late.