The misty morning air washed like rushing water over my nakedness as I sprinted madly through the wood, my heavy metal boots clanking with every step. I had been given no covering but the boots, and a series of bold red streaks of warpaint, to cover my shame, and I stood out like a virgin in a whorehouse. What was more, I was dreadfully tired. My captors had kept me up all the previous night in preparation for this day; the memories of their pleasure flooded back all at once, and I shuddered at the thought of what would befall me if I was caught.

My chest heaved with effort, and I staggered badly as my feet struck the rocks that littered the forest floor. Swearing silently, I picked up the pace, praying to every god and friendly spirit I knew of. The red paint that covered my body set like a bonfire against the green of the woods; I tried desperately to scrub it away, but try as I might it did not even smudge. Some profane alchemical concoction, or a spell of some kind, but it did not matter; the boots themselves, which were locked to my feet by a heavy iron padlock, and which were designed with tall thick heels that forced me up onto my toes like a deer, made enough noise to rouse an army of dead. Either contraption would be a curse on its own, but together they destroyed any hope of stealth. If I could only reach the edge of the forest, I might find a friendly settlement, might yet escape my fate. If I could only- Read more »