Tak mogłoby to wyglądać w idealnym świecie. :)
A jak będzie w realnym? Zobaczymy. Pierwszy mój Czytelnik anglojęzyczny (edytorka) jest zadowolony.
W każdym razie trzymajcie kciuki!
W tajemnicy - uwielbiam moją tłumaczkę! Ale nic jej nie mówcie, bo zażąda podwyżki. :)
She'd spent the last three months locked in a cage like an animal, carted from one market to another. A fat slave trader who picked up those who had been sentenced to slavery from the prison of the Order wanted to earn some good money for her beauty, her long black hair, shapely hips and firm breasts, but there weren't too many people eager to buy her. Men who were fit enough to work or girls much younger than she was were more popular. She was nineteen years old already and no one wanted to buy her for the price quoted by the trader. Many customers were willing to rent her for a few nights, but the fat man only bridled at such offers. He said that she would be worth nothing when she would lose her virginity and that he wasn't a pimp but a moral salesman. She had her own opinion of his morality as she had to look at what he did to Karen every night. The trader threatened her that if he didn't find a buyer in a little town called Rothen, he would stop providing her with food and would just let her die. One slice of mouldy bread a day would hardly be called food, so she was thinner and thinner every week and now she was a mere shadow of the beautiful woman she once used to be.
Then a merchant came. He had short hair and a youthful-looking face, though judging from the salt-and-pepper look of his temple hair, you could see he wasn't young any more. He was of average height, dressed like a middle-class man, noble-born but not rich. He stood in front of her as she was standing tied to a pole in the marketplace like a cow, covered with a dirty skimpy rag. He looked long into her eyes and she didn't look away, but stared at him proudly and shamelessly.
‘How old are you, child?’ he asked softly.
‘Sir,’ he said vocally.
‘In case you haven't noticed, I'm a lady,’ she replied, giving him a smirk.
‘I'm nineteen years old, sir,’ he told her with a faint smile.
‘You look like an old fool.’
The slave trader seemed to have yet another, devilish sense, for he managed to overhear that conversation while he was busy bargaining with a lady and her servant for a young and strong slave just a dozen or so steps away. He took several leaps towards her and slapped her mightily in the face, and then he hit her once more.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ he explained himself, bent in a servile bow. ‘She's a teenybopper. She needs a good beating and then she'll be docile and faithful like a dog.’
‘Look how slender she is.’ He pulled her shirt revealing her naked body. ‘What hips and breasts she has, she's good for everything – for work and for bed.’
She didn't defend herself against that further humiliation. Her nose started to bleed as a result of the fat man's blows and tears streamed down her cheeks. She was a slave.
Now she was following him, her master who had bought her, and she didn't know her fate. She was angry about the fact that he didn't even check if she was walking behind him, that he was so sure of her dog-like obedience that he didn't care about her exhaustion and lack of strength. She was trying to hate him with all her heart! For the fact that he'd seen her naked, that he'd seen how she was deprived of dignity, that he'd bought her.