II
The Sorceress
* * * *
My dearest Tessarie,
I know times are trying right now, but please know that I did my best to ensure you wound up somewhere safe. Human lands are welcoming to our kind and while they are not to be trusted, I have no doubt you will be treated well and welcomed with open arms. From what we know of them, they shun magic, so please be careful if you choose to exercise your powers. . .
The accident could have been forgiven if it was not so wide spread, but in talking to the elders, there is hope. I know you suffer from the same thing they did, but the decision has been handed down. You may be allowed to return when have learned to master your skills, but for now the only advice I can offer is to keep your wits about you and your chin up. You are destined for greatness. Do not give up.
You are forever in my heart.
Your brother,
Estereyn
* * * *
A
beautiful melancholy hymn clung to the air like the sickly-sweet flavor of fermenting peppermint. The human singing in front of the band tugged at her collar subconsciously as she went through the movements of her dance by rote; devoid of the passion and spirit that she could have inspired in anyone with her powerful, sultry body.
Tessarie could see the hopelessness in her eyes as the greasy dregs of society threw coppers on to the catwalk around the dancer. Her heart ached for the woman and she tugged at her own collar, knowing full well the futility of the act. Makrin would keep the coppers, of course. He'd apply a portion of it to the human's debt with him, but never enough to get ahead.
This was how things went at the Crimson Devotion. Day in and day out, the women danced amidst the stinging haze of tobacco smoke and cheap alcohol while patrons came and went at all hours. Some women had it better than others, some could dance or sing keep guests entertained in other ways. Those who couldn't wound up in the back rooms. Tessarie shuddered.
She had gotten good at ignoring the looks and the rough nature of humans-- especially the men-- but she'd never truly understood the exact reason behind their primitive ways. She had some insights from the cheap pulp novels she'd managed to sneak away with. Usually left by patrons too drunk to remember their names. Her mother had tried to explain them to her when she was younger, but she didn't pay attention when she should have-- life had been more interesting then. Vibrant. . .
alive
with possibility.
"Oi, knife ears! Need a drink here!"
But that was then. This was now.
Tessarie scooped up one of the ales lined up on the bar and placed it on her serving tray before she bounded away with a flourish, neatly pirouetting between isles of drunken men laughing and talking amongst them selves. She felt herself slide away into the corners of her mind as she moved, to that place of real freedom that no one could touch. Her long blonde hair swirled around her body with pent up magic looking for a place to release.
She danced through the isles towards the man with the tray held high, ale sloshing against the rim of the glass. Tessarie didn't flinch when someone slapped her tight butt and instead tossed the platter up, spun in place, feeling the power build in her body with every movement. When she caught the tray she directed her built up energies into it-- the amber liquid flickered pink and went back to its natural shade. She couldn't let herself smile as she raised the tray and bowed low, presenting his drink as though it were a sacred artifact. This garnered more than a few looks from some of the patrons who eyed her olive skin covetously.
The man grabbed the handle and took a slug as he watched the dancer on stage. In a second he realized something was wrong but didn't seem to understand
what
. He slumped back in his chair looking exhausted all of a second. His eyes closed and he started snoring loudly. Tessarie straightened up with a faint smile. Humans minds were always so susceptible to her magic.
"Oi, Tess!" Makrin said from across the room, motioning her over.
He'd seen her, he had to have. Somehow he knew what she'd done and now he was going to punish her. Dammit, why was she so easily provoked? She swallowed and scuttled over with the tray held over her bare midriff protectively, her head lowered in supplication. "Y- Yes?" She barely squeaked out.
"You got a customer. Booth four."
Tessarie dared a look up at the human through her dark brown bangs. "B- I thought--"
"She's
paying
. More you make, the quicker you get out of here, yeah? Now get your scrawny little ass over there and take care 'f my customers."
There was a second, just one, where she thought about opening her mouth. About reminding him that her debt wasn't
that
bad. It'd been two nights at an inn, for Mesyolin's sake! She wasn't supposed to be taken into private, much less into the booths. But then the second passed and her shoulder's slumped in resignation. She knew what would happen if she resisted. Constricting collars were good teachers. She ventured tentatively for her voice. "W- Why me specifically?"
Makrin got that look in his beady eyes that told her she was treading dangerous ground. "She
asked
for you."
"By name?"
"Of course not! Now,
please
, yer royal fucking elfiness, would you
get a move on
?" At those words the collar tightened around her throat to emphasize his demand.
"Going, going--" Tessarie scampered through the main lobby, dumped her tray on the bar as she passed and didn't slow down until she was through the curtain to the hall of private booths. The green linen outfit she wore trailed behind her like a peacock's tail, though it barely covered any of her chest. It covered up other things, though. The bands of linen hung from her hips in layers over her pelvis, almost no one could see the unmistakable outline of what the accident had done to her. Unless she was aroused, of course. Then there would be no hiding it.
A woman was a rare client, but it wasn't completely unheard of in this city. It seemed that more and more humans were expressing their deeper desires just as her people had learned to over centuries. In some way, that comforted her. Sure, Tessarie had heard things from some of the other girls in the back room about how rough orcan bloods were-- men and women alike-- but the booths were meant for no-touch dancing.
Tessarie swallowed. At least she hoped so. Who knew what this woman had been promised to get her to part with her coin.
She stopped outside the door. The frosted windows offered no insights to her client and with the lights set low, she couldn't make anything out of the shadows despite her keen vision. She could do this. Nothing bad would happen, it was just a dance. Nothing more. She took a deep breath.
Her skin prickled despite the warm air and as she grabbed the door knob her hand slipped from sweat. Would she want to do
things
with Tessarie? Was she looking for a cheap thrill? Humans were so unpredictable when it came to their desires and she didn't know the first thing about actually satisfying them without resorting to the more carnal forms of satisfaction.
Just go. . . Get this over with and life can go on.
Tessarie hugged her arms under her breasts and rubbed her arms suddenly feeling horribly exposed. She wanted to go home, she wanted to be with her friends again. Not surrounded by these strange and overbearing creatures. She had no money, though! And a magic collar that kept her there. Oh, where had it all gone so wrong. . .
She closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. She'd do this and be done with it, life would go on and she would be out of here soon. An inn room couldn't have cost that much for two days and people paid good money for these booth visits, right?
