Stolen

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I step onto the stage, my legs are shackled, and my feet splinter with every step. I hope they bleed. 

The auctioneer is a small stocky woman with a loud voice and a bright smile. She is holding a small girl three spaces to the right of me. She can't be older than twelve, with large blonde girls, and a baby face painted with all sorts of materials. 

"A yound bud ready to flower, #60 has several skills including, sewing, cooking, and serving." A man in a golden tux raises his paddle. The auctioneer smiles, "Sold, to Sir Mirken." The small lady cringes, but doesn't scream when the man puts her on a leash and pulls her offstage.

"Our next slave, a young man, can lift up to 200 pounds. He is also a talented musician. Do I hear five gold coins?" The woman asks. A bidding war starts immediately. Before he is taken off stage, he turns to me. His green eyes are hypnotizing.

I am pushed to the front, a toy on display. There's a small noise the rises from the pit. Perhaps I am appealing. Right now there is nothing but a sickening numbness.

" Slave #63, trained in etiquette, a lovely singer, and quite a talented dress maker. Do I hear seven gold coins, seven?" A man raises a paddle, his hair is oily, and his face is snakelike. Next to him, is a heavely ordained man in a blue suit sits utterly still. My father. A tear escapes my eyes. Blood means nothing. 

"One Crystal coin!" A woman in the front row shouts.

"Sold!"

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