Milly smiled as adrenaline surged through her veins. She held her knife in a reverse grip, pointed towards her assailant. Her eyes held him in a vacant stare. He would not get the better of her. She was no longer frightened or furious. Milly was a pool of calm, the knife an extension of her natural body. She did not need emotions, as she knew the opportunity would present itself. When it did, she would take it. It did not need to be complicated by blurred vision or sweating hands. Milly's assailant strafed her, searching for an opening. She saw the lunge before he had even begun to move; it was broadcast by the sudden furrowing of his brow, the determination in his eyes, the barely perceptible twitch in his left thigh. He lunged to her left side then switched direction mid-attack, swiping to the right. A clever move, but it wasn't nearly quick enough to catch Milly. She dipped under the knife's path and spun behind her opponent. Her knife cradled his throat before he could finish his step.

"Drop it."

A round of applause and boisterous praise greeted her victory. Max laughed as he dropped his practice knife.

"I really don't know how you do it, Mils." He smiled, turning to face her. "I've never seen anyone pick it up as fast as you. I think even my old da' would have trouble against you!"

Milly smiled. She no longer blushed quite so much when given praise. At first, she had only kept up the knife fighting to keep the dock boys happy, and as an excuse to spend time with them. Secretly, she had thought it unnecessary, as she was probably more likely to be crowned Queen of Narcys before she was in another knife fight. After a few weeks she began to enjoy it. Her confidence was reinforced with every little improvement in her poise, speed and reflexes. The sense of improvement was addictive. In a matter of months, she had learned to consistently beat Gerty. Within a year, she could defeat Max without breaking a sweat. Now she was the most talented fighter of all the dock boys. Milly smiled as she wondered what her parents would think. Max passed her a tankard, full of a murky ale that one of the younger boys had swiped from his father's stash.

"Really don't know how much more we can teach you." Max scratched his head. "You can keep coming along for practice though, if you like?"

Milly couldn't ignore the hopeful tone in his voice; he was afraid of losing the opportunity to spend time with her.

"Of course we can still practice!" Milly smiled, clinking her tankard against Max's. "I need to keep going until I can beat all of you at the same time!"

Max tousled her hair as the rest of the boys exploded with laughter. She took a sip of the ale and grimaced. The initial caress of honey was not enough to mask the bitterness hidden underneath. It reminded her of her current situation; these times, with the dock boys, were the honey. The brothel was most definitely the bitter ale. While she was fitting into the dock lifestyle well, she still hadn't taken to the local obsession with ale and rum, despite its admittedly soothing effects. She left her tankard on a crate. The night was getting away from her and the adrenaline had seeped out of her veins.

"I should really get back," she said.

Max's face darkened, as always. He thought she was above doing 'that kind of work'. Her self-confidence had come along, but it had not yet developed enough to agree with him.

"Aye, I suppose," Max grunted. "Stay safe, Milly."

She said her farewells and returned to the brothel.

Milly waited patiently in the soft candlelight as another frenzied man thrusted his way to ecstasy inside of her. Etha had been right about one thing; it was always quick. It was rare for the wax on the candles to begin melting before she was filled with seed. After the customer finished, it was always the same routine. Wipe, tea, wash. The tea was a working girl's best friend; brewed using a harsh nettle found only in The Northern Peaks, it would kill any healthy seed, ensuring that the girl would not get pregnant and lose her figure. While the men didn't mind a bit of scarring, a bad figure was a different story - that could put her out of a job. She drained the bitter tea and studied herself in the mirror. Another post-job ritual, and one that still puzzled her. Milly still couldn't understand what it was about her appearance that made men so passionate. As far as she could see, she was just another pile of bones, flesh and hair, the same as everyone else. She pulled on her slip and walked through to the washroom. There were always several brimming buckets of water, allowing for quick baths between clients. The steam from the buckets drew beads of sweat from her forehead. As she lifted a bucket, she overheard two of the other working girls discussing a client.

"You're lucky to get him again! He gave me two in the space of ten minutes last time."

"I know, that's the only reason I'm bothering to wash."

They giggled at that. Milly left as quickly as she could. She didn't want to get into a conversation about pleasure again. She didn't understand it, and it was embarrassing to pretend to the other girls that she could feel it. On the other hand, she didn't want to admit the truth, in case they branded her a freak.

She scurried back to her room, relieved that she didn't bump into any other girls. Milly poured the steaming water into her tub. She let her slip fall to the ground and climbed into the warm, cleansing water. This was the only part of brothel life that she enjoyed. It was so relaxing, allowing the hot water to massage her worn muscles. As the water began to cool, Milly realised she almost had enough money to leave Narcys. It was almost time to find a new home and start a new life. Just another couple of months, then she could leave this life behind forever. She sank further into the tub and closed her eyes.

Will Milly's plan go as smoothly as she expects, or will she have to use her knife-fighting skills before long? What do you think of Emilia's transition to Milly? Please let me know in the comments