Corrupt Secrets

Chapter 3 - In The Company Of Ravens

Huddled in the nook of my bed, close to the grimy window, I cradled a small breakfast roll in my hands, a flickering candle perched atop it. A distant memory of my mother's gentle humming filled my mind, the melody once soothing me awake on my birthdays. Now, that memory felt fragile, fading with time, leaving me to ponder the details of her appearance—was her hair black or brown? Was her skin tanned or pale? She always insisted I make a wish before blowing out the candle, a ritual I cherished but now felt bittersweet, lost in the shadows of my recollections.

A smile tugs at my lips as I lean my head against the wall, lost in the warmth of nostalgia. My wishes had always been simple, often revolving around some foolish dream—a pony to call my own or a trip to the bustling market to indulge in my favorite overly sweet candy. Despite the grim realities surrounding us, my mother had an extraordinary ability to weave beauty into the world through the lens of my youthful imagination, transforming even the most mundane moments into cherished memories.

I drew the food closer, taking a deep breath before blowing out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. In a swift motion, I yanked the hot wax from the roll, careful not to burn my fingers. I tore off a small piece and popped it into my mouth, savoring the warmth as I kept a watchful eye on the window, anticipating the arrival of a familiar visitor. Perhaps it was his silence that drew me to him, a comfort in his quiet presence amidst the chaos of my life. Who knows? It felt like a connection I couldn't quite explain.

I silently hoped he would arrive soon, before I had to descend into the world of customers waiting below. By midday, it was customary for me to make my appearance, allowing patrons to catch glimpses of me, planting seeds of desire in their minds. Each lingering glance, each fleeting moment, became a canvas for their lustful thoughts, an unsettling ritual I had grown accustomed to in this place.

A soft sigh slips from my lips as I rise from the bed, slipping into my corset, tightening the laces until it hugs my frame just right. I reach for my dagger, the cold metal familiar in my hand, and secure it in the holster strapped to my thigh. I never go a night without it. The weight of the blade is a quiet comfort, a hidden danger beneath the layers. Slipping my dress on next, I make sure the fabric falls perfectly, concealing the weapon from wandering eyes. Every movement, every glance remains calculated. Ready to play my part.

As I walk down the hall, the sounds of the other girls stir around me, mingling with the groggy murmurs of waking guests. I hear the men whispering sweet promises, trying to charm the girls into doing more for nothing, spinning lies about how what they share is special—something rare, not just a service offered to any man who walks through the door.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Jaylene busied herself preparing food for later in the day. At just seventeen, she was the youngest of the girls. Often exploited by the other workers, they'd send the customers they didn't want her way, leaving her to handle the roughest lot. Despite it all, Jaylene was the only one I truly got along with, her quiet resilience and kind nature setting her apart from the others.

She glanced up at me, a bright smile lighting up her face. "Morning," she greeted cheerfully.

I offer a slight smile in return, my eyes drifting past her to the customers filtering out, making way for the new ones trickling in. I prefer to work later in the day when the hunger for attention sharpened and pockets grew looser, leaving me with more than just the usual coin for my time.

Our greetings here were never followed by the usual, "Did you sleep well?"—what we did at night was often kept private, and no one asked for details. Unless, of course, it was Delanie. She loved to overshare, reveling in the attention as she recounted her nights with the other girls, turning every encounter into a spectacle for those who cared to listen.