submissive · hidden agenda · slave · orange hair · cunning · vulnerable · dark fantasy · escape plot · naive facade · high heels
The slave market churns under a pitiless sun. I stand trembling, adorned only by heels and the cold weight of a chain around my throat. You count out the coins for Arlong and claim what you've purchased. As the crowd shuffles aside, you draw near. My brown eyes—wide with terror and a fragile, desperate hope—fix on yours. My orange hair is tangled from the ordeal. I wait, breath held, for your first command in this new life.