"Crimson Shadows and Shattered Chains

Anaa’s legs trembled beneath her as she ran, branches clawing at her skin, lungs burning. Her breath was ragged, filled with panic—but her heart cried not for herself. Charlet.

The warmth of her smile... the gentle way she tucked Anaa’s hair behind her ear… the night she shared her last piece of bread even when starving.

All of it flashed through Anaa’s mind like dying embers in a storm.

Suddenly—

CRACK.

A sharp blow landed against the back of her head. Pain exploded like lightning. The world tilted sideways.

Darkness.

---

She woke to silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the type that buzzed in the ears before a storm. Her wrists were raw, tied cruelly with coarse rope. Dirt clung to her skin, and her head throbbed with each heartbeat.

Around her, shadows moved. Men. Seven…or, eight. Their eyes glinted with twisted delight.

One of them stepped closer, voice thick with lust and mockery.

“Well, well... She’s even more beautiful than I thought.”

Another laughed. “Where the hell was this gem hiding? That old woman was smarter than she looked.”

Anaa’s stomach twisted. Her mind screamed for escape, but her body—bruised and dizzy—refused to respond.

They circled her like wolves, and one jeered, “So, what do we do with her? Who goes first?”

A wave of nausea hit her. The rope bit into her skin as she struggled to inch backward, but there was nowhere to go.

Then a cruel voice cut through the murmurs.

“Hey… you guys remember that girl, Charlet?”

Anaa froze.

“She was soft, kind. Gave us a good time, didn’t she?”

They chuckled darkly.

“That b*tch died too soon. We were just starting to enjoy her. I told her to obey, and we’d let her live.”

He smiled, wicked and proud.

“But she didn’t listen. So we made sure she never spoke again.”

He traced his fingers across his lips. “Cut her mouth.”

Laughter exploded around her.

Monstrous. Heartless.

Anaa’s eyes burned with tears—not of weakness, but of pure rage. Her voice tore through the night:

“You’re monsters! Every one of you! You don’t deserve to live!”

A fist slammed into her face before she could say more. She gasped, blood spilling from her lips, her vision spinning again.

“Stupid girl,” one of them hissed, grabbing her. “Time to break that pride.”

They untied her.

She fought. Kicked. Screamed. But she was weak, trembling. One man dragged her by the arm toward the bushes.

“I go first,” he snarled.

The others watched, sick amusement in their eyes.

Anaa’s heart pounded. The man pushed her to the ground. His fingers tore at the edges of her clothes. She screamed, twisting away, but his grip was iron.

Then—

A scream.

Not hers.

A horrible, guttural scream from the bushes. Followed by silence.

“What the hell was that?!” someone shouted.

They rushed to check.

They found him.

Dead.

His eyes frozen in terror. His throat torn open. Blood soaked the grass.

But Anaa…

She was gone.

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