— R E P E R T O I R E —

   If dancing could be compared to anything, it would be fighting.

Soft feet always moved to the rhythm of a beating heart. Focus is deliberated with every step. Despite being slick with sweat, everyone still sways to the soft melodical tones. Dancing isn't something that just anyone could replicate — the same could be said for battle. Specifically, war.

My feet itched to dance, but my taut muscles held me in place.

As I listened to the gentle strokes of the instrument, I felt my heart beat in time with the music. My breasts pressed against the door carefully. My feet lifted me to better hear the alluring tones that seemed to lift me away from the dark halls, and into the clouds.

Loud guffaws sounded through the door, drowning out the beautiful sounds. My fantasy was ripped from my imagination, only an endless hall in its place.

As if from nowhere, a voice called my name. My body whipped towards the sound, the color draining from my cheeks as Lady Osira appeared.

Lady Osira narrowed her eyes at me. Her lips were thin and chapped. I knew underneath her cracked exterior her teeth were black from chewing on tobacco grown from Brescia, the Land of Poor. Although they were not a wealthy country, their products were unmatched in quality. Lady Osira bought tea from Brescia as well.

I used to sneak around and watch her speak in a different tongue to foreigners with strange appearances. It was a rare sight to see an outsider in Hokeide. But being beaten was not worth seeing foreign beauty.

Lady Osira snapped her fingers. “Pay attention to me, whore,” she hissed.

“Yes,” I bowed to her, and watched as she pulled a silken scarf closer to her body. A chill rain up my spine.

“You are being requested by a customer,” she growled. “You're lucky I don't beat you senseless for being out of your quarters. Do you hear me, Gift?”

I didn't lift my eyes from the ground, and only nodded in response.

Lady Osira coughed and then pointed towards the opening she came through.

“Go get dressed and I'll escore him to your entertainment room.”

—

From the depths of my caged soul, I felt a flicker of something inside me.

Scraps of cotton surrounded me like a halo of cloth. As the buzz of the oil lamp hummed in the background, I could feel the furious pounding of my heart. In and out my breathing compressed into shallow gasps. I swallowed the saliva in my mouth. With my hands pressed to my bare chest, I worked furiously to calm the scream threatening to seep out and wake the sleeping predator.

Quivering lips caressed the window my body leaned against, chilly night air raising goosebumps.

“Beautiful night,” a voice whispered.

A gasp escaped my lips. I faced the man who had been slumbering only moments ago. He smiled at me — much like the smirk of a cat to a mouse. He pressed his naked body against mine, bare lips heating my shoulder with hot breath.

“Is it?” I said quietly.

He chuckled. “It will be.”

As his tongue flickered out to skim my soft skin, I wished nothing more than his death. I was trapped inside of this fate that I was intermingled with.

I was a broken song — quietly repeating the same sad tune for eternity.

After all, I was only a whore.

A lonely, ravaged, whore.

—

This makes me sad. I wanna cry.