"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 16: Broken Wings

TRIGGER WARNING: Rape and Sexual Assault, Sexual Exploitation, Emotional Abuse and Manipulation, Psychological Trauma, Objectification and Dehumanization, Powerlessness and Loss of Control.

IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS ARE DISTRESSING OR TRIGGERING, PLEASE SKIP THIS TEXT OR READ IT AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. IF AT ANY POINT IT BECOMES OVERWHELMING, TAKE A BREAK OR STOP READING ENTIRELY. YOUR WELL-BEING IS MOST IMPORTANT.

Freya's POV

Same shit, different day. I found myself on the stage again. It felt like an out-of-body experience, but it wasn't exciting. I just felt my dignity and self-respect slipping away, leaving me a hollow shell.

My hand gripped the cold metal pole as I walked around it while men lusted after me. Their eyes were like hungry wolves, and I was the meat on display, ready to be torn apart. I couldn't shake the thought that if I had chosen to stay in the castle, I'd be safe right now—somewhere far away from this, anywhere but here, selling my body to strangers.

That night still haunts me. The night he raped me. I tried to fight back and tell him no, but the second rule echoed in my ears: "Grow thick skin. You or what you feel don't matter here."

I didn't matter. It didn't matter what I felt, or if I had anything to say. Nothing mattered here, and it took just one night for my spirit to be shattered.

The memory is still fresh, like it happened mere moments ago. The sound of his voice—so slick, so sickeningly smug—echoes in my mind, repeating the same words over and over, like a broken record I can't turn off. His filthy hands, that disturbing grin that stretched across his face like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Every detail replays in my mind, unrelenting, unbearable. I can't escape it. I can't forget.

My body is covered in bruises—hidden beneath layers of makeup that Resa so carefully applies every morning. But no amount of makeup can mask what I feel inside. It only suffocates me more, makes my skin itch, my breath shallow, like I'm suffocating under the weight of my own skin. Every bruise a painful reminder. Every touch from someone else is a phantom of his, lingering on my body like his filthy hands are still there, clutching me, marking me.

I thought that was it, that maybe I would wake up from this nightmare. Maybe it was just one night—a dark, twisted dream. I prayed it was. But my prayer was never answered.

I can't breathe when I see him again. My stomach drops. There he is, sitting near the entrance. That same grin on his face. That same sickening, predatory look that makes my skin crawl, like he's already planning something. Something I can't stop. I feel my heart sink, my chest tighten, as I watch him toy with a small pouch of money in his hands. My bidding money. It's the kind of money that feels like poison.

Every instinct screams for me to flee, to run, but my body stays frozen, locked in place, like I'm cemented to the ground. I should be focused on the performance in front of me. I should be pretending everything is fine, acting the part they expect of me. But all I see is him. That grin. His presence feels like a weight pressing down on me, suffocating every bit of air in the room.

The laughter around me, the voices of people enjoying the night—everything fades, like I'm in a tunnel, and it's just him and me. The pounding of my heart is all I can hear now, louder than the music, louder than the noise. It's screaming for me to escape, to run far away, but I'm stuck. I can't move.

I'm paralyzed by fear, by the awful realization that in this world, I'm nothing more than a pawn. A piece of flesh in a game where the rules are rigged to keep me in chains. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape the trap I've fallen into.