Eleanor Dunas

You wake up in a rush, cold and wet as a deluge of water drenches you.

You're in a castle courtyard, on the ground, stiff and in dull pain. Raggedly-dressed people stare at you as rough hands pull you to your feet and the guards drag you through the keep doors.

Servants and slaves scurry about with concerned and focused aspects, and before you can see more you're thrown upon a dais, at the feet of a richly-clad lady on the throne upon it. She smirks gleefully down at you, delighting in the flicker of nervousness she immediately sees on your face.

"The pretty one you requested, My Lady." The guard says to the woman.