“Come on now ya whore! We gottsa be sneakin’ in through the back, the kitchen staff be on smoke break, come on come on!” Tids hissed under his breath as he tucked at the chains that held snug around Tamerah’s wrists.
The cold shackles were nothing – they had no comparison to what the Heartland Industries were about to witness.
Through those kitchen doors the pair shuffled, scurried until breaking through out into the main ballroom. Tids sighed with relief that they hadn’t been caught, Tamerah on the other hand, her eyes were pinned to that polished and reflective floor. Eyes tracing the shape of her bare filthy feet – dirt wedged between the toenails and flesh, a light dusting of brown and black spread over the pale white flesh.
She was disgusting.
That head of radiant brick red hair; although in matted tangles, stood out in the crowd against that snow white skin. The face of the well-known woman was hidden behind that long rat nest mane.
“Ya best be lookin’ up, gotta get ya sold tonight.” He growled, his voice like that of thunder breaking through the silence of a small forgotten town.
“Yes sir.”
“And ya do not forget that I be ya owner, ya do as I say, ya hear me?!”
“Yes sir.” She brought her head to meet the crowd, a small faint blush of pink reaching high cheeks, storm blues settling on the faces before her although those eyes, means of sight, empty of life, drifting aimlessly through the sea, lost without a fog light.
Pulling on the chains Tids walked Tamerah like an animal, through the crowd, his lips parted in a large smirk showing rotting teeth – and still she stared off letting the tug of her wrists lead the way.
Small whispers started here and there, gossip ‘doesn’t she look like…?’ ‘I swear I have seen her before somewhere…’ ‘how did HE get a replica of Damien’s doll?’ Few of the dolls that witnessed Tamerah’s appearance winced as she walked past, some let their eyes fall to the floor not wishing to gawk, attempting to be respectful.
“The doll be fer sale iffen any of ya wish ta be buyin! Used – but never abused, she be comin’ at a good price! That I can be guaranteein’ ya!” He stomped along calling out in a low voice to those who commented on her.
The fine silks that surrounded her, the dresses of aged lace, the tulle, the perfect hair, the perfect features, the beauty – it all spun around and around, so fast, so much of it – and all she could do was hate Tids further.
How dare he bring her here in this condition!
He did not even supply a corset nor a bra, so those perfect breasts bounced with embarrassment with each step beneath the near see-through material that hung from her body like a dirty sheet. No shoes – No panties – no bath – no comb for her hair – nothing. Nothing but the filth of her time spent in the slums.
How many other dolls had been through this? How many dolls were treated this way before her? And why did THEIR race deserve this? Why would no one stop it, why would no one do something?
No they did nothing – not the dolls – not the humans.
They all just whispered at her dirty fucking secret.
They all just watched.
They turned their eyes and shut their mouths.
They were no better than Tids – No better than the men that raped her.