In a kingdom plagued by crime and monsters lurking beyond the village, Odessa survives by selling both her body and the secrets she uncovers-cursed with an ability to read minds by simply knowing a name and seeing a face. Each year, she finds solace...
In the stillness of the night, when vulnerability softens even the most guarded souls, secrets slip effortlessly from their minds. It's almost unsettling how easily their deepest truths are laid bare, whispered in the darkness without a second thought, as if the mere act of sharing a bed dissolves the walls they so carefully built.
I awaken, my eyes heavy with sleep, vision blurred as the early morning light filters through the tattered curtains of my small room. The familiar scent of stale air and cheap alcohol clings to the sheets. I don't need to roll over to know that James is still there, his slow, steady breathing a reminder of the night before and what was spilled between us.
I lie still for a moment, staring at the ceiling listening to the distant murmur of the brothel coming to life. The girls below starting their morning routines, the clink of glass and soft voices caring through the walls. This place with its peeling wallpaper and creaking floors is the only home I've ever known for years. A life of rented pleasure, where moments of passion are not just traded for coin but also secrets.
James is no different from the others. A traveling merchant with more charm than gold. This is his first and only visit, and I can sense it. He's not here to linger; he's here to indulge and forget. playing the role of the smitten lover while I hold his secrets like a dagger at his throat. I close my eyes again, pretending for just a moment that this isn't my reality, that I'm somewhere far away, free from the confines of this life.
But the illusion fades as quickly as it came, and I pull myself out of bed, careful not to wake him. I glance at his coat draped over the chair; the ring tucked away inside. With a sigh, I grab it, my fingers brushing against the cool metal. The weight of his betrayal settles heavily in my chest, a mix of anger and sympathy for the woman who thinks he's faithful. As I reach into the coat pocket, my fingers brush against something else—folded paper. I pull it out, unfolding a note written in delicate, feminine handwriting. His wife's name stares back at me, along with words of affection and plans for their future with their two children. A bitter soft laugh escapes my lips. In this world, trust is a fragile thing, easily shattered by desire and deceit.
As I step toward the small mirror hanging on the wall, I pause. The reflection staring back at me shows the aftermath of the night before—messy bed head, swollen lips, and smudged makeup still clinging to my skin. The remnants of my encounter with James are written in the chaos of my appearance, a mix of allure and exhaustion.
I slip the ring into my pocket, a token of the secret I now hold. I can already feel the power it gives me-the leverage I need to squeeze more coin from him before he leaves. When he wakes, I'll dangle this betrayal like a puppet string, reminding him that secrets have a price.
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As I make my way to the door, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead. The familiar creaks of the wooden floor guide my steps as I descend the narrow staircase, the worn banister smooth beneath my fingertips. The walls of the brothel are adorned with faded tapestries that whisper of forgotten tales and lingering shadows, their rich colors muted by time but still holding a certain allure.
