The great Byrenhag, at the forest near Orphadame brothel.

Gris Benedict was running away with all her might. She had to flee for life if she didn’t want to be killed, or to live in the brothel all her life, or even worse, to be sold as a slave to be a stranger’s toy. It was a fortunate night that the full moon aided her, giving a clear view of the forest.

But it must be known that Gris was Grandia’s princess—and unknowledgeable of the geography of Byrenhag’s forest.

Moreover, it was the first time in eleven years that she had step foot out of the brothel, so she was blind on where to run. The only thing she had heard was that a cliff was situated near it. Which side is it? she thought frantically. If she is looking to escape another demise, she must find a path connecting to another village!

Trees towered ominously over her, stretching across all directions in same likeness. Gris pleaded to the fates in her mind, please, please. She was in a hurry, but her sense of direction was lackluster; it was hard to find the right way.

She breathed heavily, “Ha, ha, please.”

The pursuers on her tail rushed to seize the fleeing Gris. An eager voice devoted to catching her could be heard within a horrifyingly close distance.

“There it is! Left! Grab it!”

The torches held by the men came towards her like a vengeful ghost. Where should I go? Gris almost tripped over own feet in confusion. In that moment, a dark face appeared beside the torch.

“Cowardly b*tch!”

It was Billton, the owner of the brothel, his evil voice resounding in the forest.

“Did you pay me back for the kindness I showed you, for the food you ate and the bed you slept in?!”

A slap flew towards her face without a moment’s hesitation. Gris fell sideways from the harsh force, her back bumping into hard wood.

“Ahh!”

She heard ringing her ear. Dull ache was present in her abused cheek and the back of her head that had collided with the tree.

This would be the beginning of the assault. Her legs shook in the terrible premonition that she would be beaten more mercilessly than usual.

Perhaps even until her last breath, a passing stranger would still be wary of extending a hand. Such was the fate of most women trapped in a brothel; they live only to be consumed till their death.

At the mere thought of it, Gris felt beyond miserable that her eyes began to burn. There was no mercy in Billton’s eyes, rather, only the irateness that had reached its peak.

“Follow me, you f*cking bitch!”

He dragged her wickedly with his rough hand by the scruff of her neck. When they had arrived in front of the brothel, Gris was already profusely bleeding, and she sobbed near the branches of the bushes.

With fearful eyes, Gris looked towards the four-story building that loomed over her like an iron fortress. Her escape must have already caused a commotion inside. Her eyes went dark at the thought of being dragged back toa prison.

Locked in her grievances, a nobleman had also got off a carriage that had just recently arrived. He donned a robe free of dust, a masquerade mask resting on the bridge of his nose and hiding traces of his identity.

When Billton looked over and saw the tall man, he was given a startle. The man was eyeing the crying Gris, who was sitting on the ground looking filthy and bloody. If the guest were to mistake the women in the brothel to be like her, then it would be devastating on his part.

Billton slammed Gris’ calves with his heels, as if to kick her out of the way. Despite the pain, in her heart, Gris also didn’t want to be seen by a man.

She sprang to her feet and rushed into the fortress. Upon reaching the corridor where a torch hanged on either side of the wall, she saw the guard standing in front of it.

As she neared, the melodies of the lute played by vagabond musicians grew louder. When she was able to hear the voice of women mixed with it, Gris hid inside the warehouse in revolt.

It was shortly a time after people had died of a plague. It was not yet clear to her whether she survived merely due to luck or because she was cursed.

Ten minutes later, dreadful news came. The nobleman Gris encountered in the front yard just a while ago bought a night to be with her.

Billton didn’t waste his time and threw her a new dress. To give her such luxury meant that the man probably had given him a good sum of money. After that, the women around her quickly ushered her to a bath and donned the dress on her frame.

Gris, who realized that her blatant defiance only led to Billton’s appalling anger, was staring blankly into space. Three women were dressing up Gris, but the room was quiet as if no soul were present. Finally, Marie, who seemed most upset of the trio, sighed.

“That’s why you should have just eaten well. How can you run away on thin hope?”

Gris had initially gone out to draw water. When she saw that the security felt slack today, she felt it was the moment to escape. So, she threw the bucket and ran.

If I had just quietly drained water, I wouldn’t have been hit like this… she was filled with regret, but the moment has passed. Gris closed her eyes and blamed herself instead.

“I’m sorry…” she started. “Because of my actions, security might be tighter in the future.”

Another tired sigh came from Claren, who had been sparing her a lecture with her words.

“It’s going to be more difficult to get out in the future. Therefore, you’ll have to hang on to the mercy of good man these days. Perhaps if you tell him a sad story, he would be willing to take you out of this place. You can tell him it’s your first time and… just hang on Gris, all right?”

Adrian, who listened quietly, narrowed the gap between her forefinger and Gris’ forehead to apply the ointment on her wound.

“Did you think a life of a normal human being awaits you outside once you left this place?”

The room had begun to become a little noisy again, but at this comment, a hushed silence fell over them. Gris bowed her head weakly.

The women here were fallen nobles, or widows who had been sold in debt. There were even some serfs that found this place a refuge after committing a felony. Indeed, it would be a miracle if they were treated even with the least amount of respect by society if they left.

Adrian, who had committed a murder, knew this fact well. It was perhaps the reason why she was always burning with a desire to extinguish the lives of all the men here, rather than to escape with their help.

“If only I had the white flowers in my front yard, I could have succeeded in my plan.”

Marie asked a question upon hearing her. “White flower?”

Adrian applied ointment to the wound on Gris’ calf and nodded.

“Yes. The white flowers with roots that look like cotton. Their roots can become poison if you boil them in rum for a long time. It’s a deadly toxin that can melt your gut and make you vomit blood until you die.”

There was a cold smile on Adrian’s lips.

“That’s how I killed my husband, who kicked me on a normal basis. And that’s why I came all the way here.”

“…”

“It was a hush secret on how to make poison. It was my mother, who was an alchemist, that told me. One day I’m going to kill all the guys in here with that poison and run away.”

Gris felt hopeful with such a preposition, but her hope diminished midway. Even if luck were ever to grace upon them and they could escape, luck is cruel and will be a choice of another. It had been no one’s choice out of misfortune that they would dare to come here. Gris, who had been helpless from the very beginning, exhaled a weary breath, her gray eyelashes wet with tears.

Adrian applied camellia oil to her thighs and suddenly looked at Gris’ face. Soon, her bitter voice reached her ears.

“You’re too beautiful to be decorated like this. You poor thing.”

Gris knew what the ‘poor’ meant in Adrian’s words. All the beautiful woman here were like a popular toy in a marketplace. They suffered from men queuing in unending lines who come to relieve their desires. If fate smiled on them, they’ll die within a year or they’ll die in the brothel until old age haunts them.

Gris couldn’t bear to meet death in a brutal way. She wanted to meet someone. She wanted to know of such a person who would give her hope, to realize the reason why she should live in the world.

Before she knew it, her hair, which was messy as a bird’s nest, was pampered till it recovered its fine texture. Gris felt awkward at the new sensation of her weightless hair, she had gotten used to the oil that weighed her locks. The dust around her body, which had wrapped around her like a shield, had also disappeared. Such things bearing her vulnerability made her finicky.

But she could not dwell on her musings any longer as the wooden doors opened wide, forcing all the women to close their mouths in a hurry. Billton came inside. He wiped his nape with a handkerchief and pointed out the door with his index finger.

“Everybody out. Mary stays.”

Billton referred to Gris as Mary. The day she was sold to the brothel was the feast day of Mary.

The women, although discontented, left the place quietly. Billton scrutinized Gris who was sitting in a chair like a doll and grabbed her fair neck with a ruffian hand.

“Listen. I don’t know who the guy you are going to spend the night with, but he paid a lot of money. If you make it unpleasant, I’ll have your tongue cut off.”

Gris closed her eyes tightly. His hot, damp palms pressed against her made her breath in extreme pain and fear.

“Ah!” On Billton’s bloodthirsty face, light dawned. His gruff voice tickled unpleasantly in her ears.

“In fact, I’m thinking of softening my cr*tch before I cut your tongue. Do you know what I mean? If you make the man who is coming into the room soon disappointed, you’ll end up in a terrible mess.”

Gris struggled desperately. “Let me go, let me go!”

Billton, who finally had his fill, smacked his lips in derision. He loosened his strangling hand, as if to give her mercy.

“You should be thanking me. No matter how much the man rubs it in you, you won’t get pregnant no matter what.”

Gris was shocked upon being reminded that she had been drinking contraceptive tea for nearly a year. Billton managed a sexual slavery without the risk of pregnancy because he wanted to sell the women at a high price.

For half a year, her menstruation had stopped. She would be unable to conceive. You should be thanking me, he said. A shaky breath came out of her mouth.

Gris tried to shoot Billton a glare, but he merely patted her on the cheek and left the room. She touched her stiff neck and took a deep breath when the wooden door creaked open again.

It was a man in his early twenties who came into her confused view. He was lean, tall, and had a small face which was hidden underneath a mask. But the sight of his ***** hand free of blemishes clearly showed that he was a nobleman.

He must have been the man she ran into when she was crying at the front yard of the brothel. If so, is he a man with a bizarre taste for women who look like beggars?

Or perhaps, even worse, he reacted to a woman’s cry. Unless he is an aristocrat who secretly enjoys violent fornication, then there was no reason for him to visit.

When she thought so, her hands and feet cooled with dread. What could be his purpose? Gris opened her lips, panic swirling in her stomach.

“It’s nice to see you sir…”

The man took his mask off and looked around the dilapidated room. Inside were a bed and a table big enough for two people. The window was covered with a wooden slate, so the only source of light was a tiny candle lit on the table.

As if not wanting to stay in such a doghole, the man only half on the chair. Gris flinched and glimpsed at him.

He was a man with brown hair, eyebrows straight and eyes slanted downwards. His friendly countenance seemed harmless enough, but Gris knew better. His eyes told a different story. He didn’t look much like an aristocrat who had lived a gentle and fulfilling life. Gris thought he looked more of a hungry wolf, and kept her guard when he let out a warm smile.

“Now, you finally start to look like a human being.”

His sweet voice filled the room. Gris stood as stiff as a wooden doll, her nerves on edge as she had never dealt with a grown man before.

The man stared at Gris oddly, as if seeing an animal for the first time. Minutes passed, and he finally opened his mouth. “Is your hair gray? What about your eyes?”

Gris had heard stories from Adrian and Marie, about men ruthlessly charging into them and ending up with bruises on their bodies. Or about times when they were told to lay still like a corpse.

But she had never heard stories about men asking about the color of their eyes and hair. Her fear started to grow when he asked another bizarre query.

“When did you end up here?”

Gris seized to answer but saw the man’s unpleasantness on his face when he realized she was ignoring him. She grasped the idea that the man did not have much patience.If you were born an aristocrat, no one will keep you waiting for an answer,Gris thought. She straightened her mind and finally answered.

“When… I was nine.”

The man finally loosened his face when he heard her voice.

“So, you know how to speak. What a relief.”

Gris was confused. No aristocrat would come here just to make conversation with a lady, no matter how pretty they were.

She assumed that he was here for something else. But the man continued to talk with his deep, mellow voice.

“And where did you live before you came here?”

No one has asked her this before. They were only curious if she was ill or was on her period. In that way, this man was highly unusual. Gris’s eyes shook as she opened her mouth to answer.

“I, I…”

Although Gris was locked in the whorehouse at the tender age of nine doing chores for a living, she once lived as the princess of Grandia. As the second oldest princess, Gris was adored by her parents and even by the public. She would spend her days in her detached palace with her grandmother.

But due to false accusations, her parents were driven as heathens and were executed. Her older sister and younger brother were prisoned in a tower and starved to death, while her grandparents, relatives, and cousins were also murdered in various kind of inhumane ways.

Young Gris was also confined in a tower but was sentenced to beheadal and returned to the Grandia palace.

For several days she was locked up in prison and was carried away somewhere in a coach. The destination then and is still a mystery, for the coach was attacked by a group of mobs and burned down to ashes.

Gris managed to escape the scene. But she was soon caught by a mob, by their leader who was missing an eye. He promised to keep her alive if she didn’t cry, and he kept his promise by selling her to a whorehouse. From this, Gris learned that promises needed specifics, or the cost out be unbearable.

Fortunately, the former owner of the whorehouse was looking for a hand to keep the place neat and tidy. Young Gris was given a meal every other day, spending her days as a maid, cleaning and washing the house.

She also nursed the former owner whenever he was sick, which kept her busy enough to not deal with customers. But a year later, when the owner changed to Billton, Gris longed for those petty days as a cleaner.

“I….”

Gris closed her lips as she reminisced the past eleven years of life. She couldn’t reveal she was once the princess of Grandia.

Now, Grandia was ruled by the Talilluchis who had led the revolution. If they heard the princess of Grandia was alive, they would inspect the whole nation to find her only so they could kill her brutally. Gris was afraid that she would lose her head, which she had narrowly kept attached to her body all these years.