The intense sting of smouldering flames relentlessly licked at her exposed skin as she forcefully kicked at the sturdy mud-brick wall enclosing her. The pungent bellowing smoke invaded her nostrils, clawing at her lungs, leaving her gasping for air. Blinded by the smoke, she instinctively covered her mouth, desperately attempting to find some respite to breathe. The once sturdy door, now consumed by the hungry flames, condemned her to a fate of burning alive. Perhaps it was a kinder fate than being consumed by the merciless orcs and vile creatures ravaging her village. With a sheer will to survive, she knew she had to escape, refusing to meet her end in such a gruesome and agonizing manner. A sudden collapse in the muddy structure granted her a momentary reprieve, an opportunity to break free from her confines. Alas, chaos reigned as fires raged uncontrollably, engulfing everything in their path, while the thick smoke suffocated the very air she desperately needed. Above, the raucous beating of wings echoed, a haunting reminder of the danger lurking nearby ... Icy blue eyes bore into her very soul, and then, she felt it - a searing, sharp tearing pain between her thighs, a brutal reminder that she was nothing but a mere mortal.

A cold sweat dripped down her face as Aradheleth shot awake. Slave women were pulling open the wrought iron shutters of the gaping windows of her room. She had not been aware that her room had windows. The muted glow of the morning seeped through the windows, forcing her to squint momentarily before her eyes adjusted. Despite the dreary, ash-laden sky caused by Mount Doom, she found solace in the gentle illumination flooding into her room. Amidst the chilling silence of the tower, the glow within her chamber felt like a respite.
"My lady..." began one of the older women, a human of Easterling descent, or so she appeared. "A bath has been prepared for you."
"Very well..." Aradheleth replied, muffling a yawn. "Thank you."
The slave woman shifted uneasily at hearing such words. Aradheleth had to remind herself that these girls and women were servants of the Dark Tower; they had never been shown an ounce of kindness or compassion from their masters. She shrugged off this thought, as neither had she truly known such. However, a wave of compassion for these pitiful creatures washed over her, as if it were ingrained in her very being.

Moving over to the large steaming bath, her ladies-in-waiting gently removed her garments, revealing her slender frame. They guided her into the bath, immersing her in the hot water that provided solace from the ever-present cold within the tower. The warmth caressed her skin, easing her frayed nerves. Today, she was to become the bride of Mordor, the mate of an all-powerful and fearsome Maia. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon her, even as her heart swelled with pride for her mighty father's approval. Yet, beneath it all, fear lingered. The day before had been her first encounter with the Dark Lord. What if she failed to please him? What if she could not fulfill his every desire? What if he revelled only in her suffering? The memory of his grin haunted her, but could it truly indicate his intentions towards her?

Sinking deeper into the steaming water, Aradheleth surrendered to the opulent indulgence. The aromatic soaps, infused with frankincense and myrrh, enveloped the air, soothing her senses. As skilled fingers caressed her scalp, she relished the gentle massage, feeling the tension melt away. "You have a remarkable touch," she praised, her voice carrying a hint of admiration. The woman's fingers lingered briefly, a moment of silent gratitude.
"You will all have to get used to receiving compliments and thanks from me," Aradheleth began to all the slaves present in the room. "You may serve me, but I will treat you not with animosity if you do well."
The eldest slave, a woman of middle age in human years, bowed her head slightly. "We are here only to serve you, mistress," she said, her voice also meek and reserved.

"Are they afraid that the Dark Lord will overhear them?" Aradheleth thought to herself, sighing due to their hesitation in communicating with her. "Does even a little compassion really make them feel this uncomfortable? How pitiful..."
Once her body had been lathered with soap and rinsed, the servants set about patting their mistress dry with soft linen cloths.
Two young girls entered the room, one holding a carved mahogany box, the other with a small silver lined obsidian bowl filled with kohl paint. The mahogany box was carved with what appeared to be a composition of Eastern and Elven designs, the insignia of the dark lord interlaced with them. Opening the box, the servant girl revealed an ivory brush and a set of hairpins that were fixed with the most precious gems to be found in all of Middle-Earth.

Stretching out her arms, two servants delicately began using the kohl to paint intricate designs of winding vines and blooming flowers over her slender fingers and dainty hands. The fine brush glided across her skin, leaving behind a trail of mesmerizing patterns. Simultaneously, two other girls mirrored their movements, adorning her feet with the same ethereal artwork. Within the intricate vine designs, symbols of her future consort intertwined, symbolizing her imminent union with him. Meanwhile, another three more servants attended to her hair, skillfully weaving her long, thick, ashen locks into elaborate braids adorned with exotic embellishments.

The silk brocade of her wedding dress lay gracefully on her bed, its delicate fabric shimmering in the soft light of the room. Beside it, a collection of exquisite gold jewelry gleamed, awaiting the moment they would adorn her on her special day.
The dress, as black as the starless sky, cascaded gently like a whispering midnight stream. Ornate patterns of gold and silver adorned the bodice and hem, shimmering like a constellation of a thousand stars. The soft touch of raven lace crisscrossed down the back, creating a corset-like effect. The front of the dress was crafted to accentuate her ample bosom, a deliberate ploy to please the enigmatic Dark Lord. This was her sole mission now - to become alluring to the ominous Maia, to ignite his desire for her. Her father's constant reminders echoed in her mind, urging her to succeed.

Now he was standing before her as she stood still naked, her servants bowing in obeisance before him. "All is going well, I see," he said as he took her by the chin, pulling her head from side to side to look over her.
"As well as we can, father," Aradheleth replied, her eyes downcast. "I hope I will be satisfactory enough for the Dark Lord."
"For your sake, you better be." Her father's cold eyes burned into her, and she felt her skin prickle at the acidic tone of his voice. "Apply henna to her nipples." He then ordered the servants that had been painting her. "So that she may be more appealing."
"Yes, master." They replied in unison.
"Do not disappoint me, Aradheleth." He glared back down at her.
"I strive not to. Those that may hinder me will die by my own hands." She turned her own voice to one of cruelty to satisfy him. She wondered then if she had noticed a hint of a grin playing on the corners of his thin mouth.
"Good," he answered, his face once more void of all expression. "Make sure you are well prepared to meet our master's demands. All of them." He reiterated the last part of his words before he turned and left her. It occurred to Aradheleth that he was insinuating the lustful appetites that the Dark Lord would undoubtedly have.

What twisted pleasures did he delve into, she wondered then. What would he make her submit to, especially on that night? He would take her innocence from her, an utmost honour, but she could not help but feel somewhat terrified at the thought. She had heard whispers from her servants back in Carn Dûm that the ripping of one's innocence was sharp and painful. She would bleed, she had heard on those rumours, but how much depended on his treatment of her... and apparently depended on the size and width of his cock. Would he be at all gentle with her on their wedding night, their first night together?
She shook her head slightly at such a thought. He was the lord of carrion and malice. Why would he have any reason to be gentle with her? As she had thought before, why would he care? Did the Dark Lord care for anything else at all besides his own goals and wants?

"Has the Dark Lord ravished any of you?" The question slipped out of her mouth, catching her off guard at her own boldness. As expected, they did not answer, and shifted hesitantly.
Yet their reluctance only sought to frustrate her more.
"Answer me!" She snapped angrily at them. She wanted to know. Nay, she needed to know what would be done to her. She needed to know for her own sanity.
"The Dark Lord never touches us, my Lady," the eldest replied, her voice shivering.
"You lie!" Aradheleth hissed.
"No, my Lady, we do not. He never touches us. We are not worthy!"
Aradheleth grimaced at the servant's words. She was telling the truth.
"He beds no one?" Aradheleth asked.
"We do not know. We are rarely in his presence. That is all we know." The girl stammered.
Aradheleth sighed, dissatisfied. "Very well," she scowled.

"Then who would be deemed worthy?" She thought to herself. "There is no one else here of worth, is there? Surely a Maia of his accord would not be untouched or celibate... nay, that would be unfathomable..."
Before she had the chance to ponder it further, a delicious tingle spread throughout her body. Glancing down in surprise, she watched as one of the servant girls tweaked her nipples, making them stand taut and erect. Aradheleth bit her lower lip to prevent a gasp from escaping her.
"What are you doing?" She stammered nervously at the unexpected sensation.
The girl looked surprised at her question. "We were ordered to paint your...," she began, but Aradheleth raised her hand to cut her off, not wanting any of them to see her embarrassment... and the fact that she had enjoyed the sensation. Her mind had been in such deep thought about the Dark Lord, she had almost forgotten what her father had ordered them to do.
"Oh yes, that is right, carry on." She said regally. The girl delicately traced her fingers along Aradheleth's nipples, sending shivers down her spine. With a henna brush, the girl carefully painted over them, creating intricate patterns around Aradheleth's areola. Aradheleth could feel a surge of desire pulsating through her core, causing her to suppress any outward signs of pleasure. The tantalizing touch made her wonder if the Dark Lord would evoke the same intoxicating emotions.

Once the servants had completed their tasks of painting her and braiding her hair, they set about dressing her once the Kohl and henna paints had dried completely. The silk of the dress felt luxurious to her skin and hugged her frame enough to stress her delectable curves. Once more, they placed heavy bangles of gold and silver onto her arms, and the large golden collar of a hundred precious gems weighed as heavily on her shoulders. It rested on her chest, just above her cleavage. After having been adorned with the fine jewellery, her servants draped a long, chiffon veil around her and it shimmered like a starry night. Now she stood there before the mirrors in all her bridal glory, ready to be wed to the master of all things. Staring proudly at her reflection, her feelings slowly betrayed her again. A sense of fear reared its ugly head. Yet putting on a face of bravery, she pushed it aside, for soon she would be the queen of Mordor; a queen to be revered and feared.