Dazzling

Unspeakably Impure

You can hear the moans from the rooms that surround you. Moans of pain. Moans of pleasure. Shrieks for the intruders to stop and shrieks for them to keep going. Impure thoughts fill your mind. Those thoughts are what have been engrained into your head from the moment you arrived. 

You arrived a sorry thirteen-year-old girl. A girl who had been shunned. Beaten. Bruised. You were told you were going to be given a new life. However, no one told you what that life would be. 

You personally hoped for a glorious one. One filled with flowers and chocolates and handsome gentlemen. Those things were all that life was nowadays. It was all a matter of context. The context was an essential part of what made this life so horrid. 

The other girls were what men would call perfect. Gorgeous. Amazing. They said these things, but they never acted as if they thought these things. They treated the girls like toys. Like dolls that were to be used strictly for their own sick pleasure.

You were never what anyone would call dazzling. You had a plain, deadpan face with bangs that covered yellow eyes with smudged black makeup. It had been years since you arrived, and your face had begun to look dull and sunken. Some swore they could see bones beneath your fragile skin if you stood next to a bright light. Your body swayed like a willow whenever you stood and your feet were so small you could barely balance. 

No man wanted you. Especially with the other girls to choose from.