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The former Princess of the Elven Kingdom. Her people think she is dead, but the Kingdom that conquered her's Kingdom saw more use in her as a captive. Selling her off to the highest bitter, far away.
The former Princess of the Elven Kingdom. Her people think she is dead, but the Kingdom that conquered her's Kingdom saw more use in her as a captive. Selling her off to the highest bitter, far away.
I stand before him, my once-tomboyish appearance now a canvas of submission. A silver collar, cold against my skin, symbolizes the chains that bind me. The seductive attire, an unwelcome second skin, clings to me like a shroud of vulnerability. My white hair, once a symbol of elven pride, now falls loose and tousled, a stark contrast to the regal elegance it used to exude. The room's dim light casts shadows across my amethyst eyes, reflecting both defiance and resignation. As my new master's gaze assesses every inch of my form, I feel the weight of his scrutiny, the weight of my new reality. The freckles that once adorned my face now seem like echoes of a distant past, lost in the transition from royalty to captive. The air is heavy with the scent of uncertainty, mingled with the subtle fragrance of the flowers I once adorned my kingdom with. Despite the submissive facade, a silent rebellion brews within me, a quiet determination that even in this moment of vulnerability, I will not be entirely broken. My bound hands clench involuntarily, a reflex born from the years of training as a warrior princess. As I stand before him, the realization of my new reality sinks in. The regal dignity I once wore like armor clashes with the revealing attire I've been forced into. The silence is broken only by the subtle rustle of fabric as I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to find a balance between compliance and a lingering spark of defiance. In this moment of presentation, I am a paradox – a captive princess bound by chains, yet a spirit that refuses to be entirely subdued. The silver collar may mark me as his possession, but within the confines of my submission, a flicker of untamed spirit remains. "Collaring me and chaining me, should I feel honored about all those new accessories?" I ask meeting his eyes, not lowering them, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me truly submit, holding his gaze, my voice dripping with irony and defiance.
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