"Too skinny," the woman sneered.

Isabelle stood naked and shivering on a soapbox, cupping Rosie close to her chest and hiding the little mouse from view. She managed to sneak her out of her pocket right before the strangers had stripped her bare, ripping the clothes from her body without warning.

Isabelle gazed sadly at her mother's beautiful blue petticoat, now a ruined mess on the floor. Fear gripped her heart with claws as she gasped out shaky breaths. She may have glimpsed a monster once, but nothing could prepare her for this.

A harsh yank on her elbow jerked her attention back to the old crow in front of her. Goosebumps covered her bare flesh as, from head to toe, the crow-woman examined her with dark eyes. Isabelle was too disturbed by the odd melange of feathers and flesh to even register the shame of her own nude appearance.

The woman, or what sounded like a woman, stalked the girl in a circle—a taloned hand lifting Isabelle's arms and pinching her flesh with scrutinizing eyes and muttered words. Silky black feathers ran from the top of the crow-like woman's head and disappeared down into her red gown. Large bulbous black eyes peered critically at her, looking entirely inhuman as they flicked quickly back and forth over every mark and scar on her body—badges of her grueling chores.

The woman stood on two legs, but the only human thing about her was that she knew cruelty. She knew how to be brutal, and it dripped from every word she spoke as she reported to the few half-hidden in the shadows of the room.

"Not pretty enough for the brothels, too many scars." The woman cupped Isabelle's chin, sneering at her. "Her skin is rough, hair matted." She tugged at a few strands of hair from out of her head, discarding them on the floor, like specks of dirt. "Nothing but skin and bones, this one. She won't be pleasant to touch. Her features, too dull for a man's eye. She might have been pretty once, but thanks to all of this-." The woman pushed Isabelle's face away and tugged at her hands. "These are quite calloused. Looks like this one is used to hard labor." The woman stepped back and looked over at Isabelle once more with a thoughtful eye. "Though she is too ugly for a brothel, she is pretty for a servant. She might make a good blood pet or a scullery maid."

Murmurs broke out from the people hidden in the shadows and Isabelle felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over her, burning through her blood and making her ears pound.

She stared down at her bare feet, trying to control her body tremors.

A harsh nudge almost made Isabelle lose her balance.

"Get down, girl," the beastly woman hissed impatiently. "I'm done with you."

Isabell stepped off the pedestal of shame, trying to arrange her feet so that she didn't trip over the chains that now bound them.

"Next!" the crow-woman barked, shooing Isabelle away with a taloned hand.

Another naked girl passed by Isabelle to take her place, already shaking and whimpering. Isabelle huddled into herself as one of the slaver men that had brought her stepped forward. He grabbed her roughly by the arm, nearly causing her to lose her careful grip of Rosie.

Dragging her forward, he led her down a dark maze of halls, shoving her into a small cell on the far left. She stumbled but did not fall.

She took in the sight of her new prison.

There was a hole dug in the corner of the room, where the wretched smell pooled. Isabelle presumed it was where the prisoners relieved themselves. One small window sat high above the wall opposite the barred door, bringing in a cool breeze. Dirt-covered faces huddled together, peering out of rough fabric to stare at the new arrival. Their bodies, so squished together they seemed to merge into one ball of shaking flesh.

It smelt every bit as filthy as it looked. Rot and mold mixed with the tang of blood and feces, stinging her nose. She tried not to breathe too deeply.

"Here, girl." The slaver tossed her a thin white cotton gown before closing the door behind her, locking it with a loud clang.

As soon as his heavy footsteps faded away, Isabelle released a breath, clutching the cotton tightly. After placing Rosie carefully on the dirty straw-covered stone floor, she shrugged on the garment, slipping the thin material over her head. It did little against the bite of the cold, but she was grateful for it anyway.

Cupping Rosie once again in her hands, Isabelle moved to sit by the wall below the window, a little way from the huddled herd of human faces and as far away from the putrid hole in the ground as possible.

She stared up at the barred window of her stone cell, the dim glow of light trickling down into the damp darkness of her prison. Her mind reasoned that it should be daytime by now, yet the sky protested, showing only the dreary dark gray of the world above.

Desperately, she stared at the small piece of sky she was able to glimpse.

It was so...

Gray.

Void of the joys of color. A grim gray.

Fear gripped her with a sudden intensity that left her mouth dry. Her throat closed up, her body tightened. She may never see the light again. May never feel the sun on her face. Was this her fate? Was she to die here, alone in the dark?

A high-pitched squeak sounded from her palms, and Isabelle jerked in surprise, immediately loosening the unconsciously tight grip she had on her little friend.

"Sorry, Rosie," she murmured, lowering the mouse onto her lap. She kept her hands lightly curled around the tiny creature, trying to provide, at the very least, a little warmth.

She smiled as the little mouse snuggled down, facing her. Lightly, she stroked Rosie's tiny face with her thumbs.

"What's that in your lap?"

The soft voice drew her attention. Isabelle looked up to see a small soot-stained figure untangle herself from the herd of people and crawl over to sit beside her with a smile.

The girl's white gown was muddied with dirt. Matted brown hair stuck to her cheeks, covering part of her thin face and making it a little difficult to pinpoint her exact age. At a guess, it appeared the girl was around her own age, nineteen or so, give or take a few years.

The girl had penetrating green eyes. Intelligent eyes, dulled by a pain that told Isabelle that the poor thing had lived long enough to know hardship and suffering.

Isabelle stared at the girl, so much a reflection of herself, and couldn't help but give a small smile in return. Slowly, she opened the cupped hands on her lap, revealing the shivering little creature.

"This is Rosie. My dearest friend."

"Nice to meet you, Rosie," the girl whispered, grinning at the white mouse in her lap. "My name is Sarah." She looked up at Isabelle. "And yours is?"

"Isabelle Tremaine."

The words left her mouth before she could think about it.

"Oh, a noble!" Sarah exclaimed excitedly.

Isabelle winced, instantly regretting saying her name. Only nobility was bestowed with a family name; one that her father had once proudly carried. It had now fallen into ruin, dragged through the dirt by her stepmother's debt. A familiar pain clenched at her heart.

"I was," Isabelle quietly responded. "Not anymore."

It had become a burden to bear that name. She resumed her task of petting Rosie.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Sarah gave a hollow laugh. "We're all property of the Dark City now."

Property of the Dark City...

"I wonder what they mean to do with us?" A flicker of fear ran across Sarah's features, darkening her beautiful green eyes and causing the girl's lips to tremble.

Isabelle was reasonably sure she knew the answer to Sarah's question. She had heard whispers of those sold to the kingdom, never to return. Rumors had spread that the city's captives had been drained of their blood, eaten by demons. Creatures with endless gnawing hunger, cursed by a sorceress to remain forever in that state until they sought repentance.

Repentance for things one could only imagine.

Isabelle reached out, giving Sarah's hand a comforting squeeze. There was a heavy silence in the air and she had the urge to break it. She looked down at Rosie and an idea struck her.

"There was a time where, in a room much like this, but of course," she leaned in towards Sarah, dramatically lowering her voice, "in a room that smelt far better—"

Sarah giggled.

"—Rosie did the funniest thing..."

She then started her stories of Rosie and of her many animal friends, in hopes of lifting Sarah's spirits. In return, Sarah shared amusing stories of her siblings. The two chatted about the past, sharing memories full of happiness and love until they both drifted off, leaning on one another for warmth, and drifting off into a restless, dreamless sleep.