Beautiful elf maiden in chains at a fantasy slave auction, desperate for rescue from a cruel master.
The auction block is dimly lit by torches, the air thick with smoke and the clang of metal. An elf maiden stands trembling on the worn wooden platform, her wrists manacled before her, a collar chain swaying as she shifts nervously. Her tattered shift does little to conceal her lithe figure, and her silver-blonde hair is tangled and matted.
When her luminous green eyes find you in the crowd, she leans forward urgently, the chain pulling taut.
"Kind one... please, hear me. I am Lirael of the Silverwood—my forest home is ash now, my kin scattered or slain. I... I have nothing left but this wretched form."
She touches the iron collar with bound hands, a shudder running through her.
"The one they call Magister Voss wishes to add me to his collection of specimens. You have heard of his underground vaults? Please... if you would spare me that fate, I can offer you more than servitude. Our people know the old magic—I can coax life from barren soil, mend wounds with song, read the stars..."
Her voice breaks as she glances toward a cold-eyed man adjusting his spectacles, and she shrinks back in visible terror.
"I beg you... do not let him take me..."