FicWad

Hiya again buddies. I'm glad to see you've made it this far into the story. Now, I'll cut to the chase, I hope you like this and I encourage reviews. Outside of that, happy reading.
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It was a cold day in the underground market; colder than any she could remember. It was the kind of day in which she wished for a poor master. Then she would be tied with many other slaves, and that would be warmer.

But as it was, her owner was wealthy and she was forced to stand alone in the cold. She stood on a large circular platform that might have revolved once in the past. The thing was built several feet above the crowds of the market. This gave her a good view of the possible buyers, and them in turn a good look at her.

She was not ugly. Not by a long shot. Her skin, though pale from a life spent out of the sun’s reach, had a rich darkness to it. ‘Mocha’ someone had called it.

Yes, now that I remember, she was so beautiful, it seemed set in her very bones. She was tall, a demoness so height was no surprise. Her fingers were long, her legs too. Sometimes, she would move a certain way, and then freeze. Who ever was watching her then, because the beautiful are always watched, aren’t they, would feel that she must have been a statue. But only for a moment, she would move again soon and the idea would be gone.

Even her scars were beautiful, but in the way that only scars can be. A sick beauty that reminds the watcher of how fragile the scarred one is, and then makes them rejoice that they are not marked and fragile.

I do not think, however, that she was aware of how beautiful she was. Perhaps no one told her, perhaps she never trusted their words if they did. But she seemed convinced that she was either ugly or unwanted. Neither of these was totally true. Neither of them was totally untrue.

That all depends on what you consider ‘wanted’ and ‘ugly’ to mean. She was ugly in the way that very few beautiful people are. She was skittish, easily dominated. Fear had always been part of her, and in a way she was addicted to it. She could not live without fear, it seemed. This is how she was ugly, this addiction to fear.

But she was beautiful, and the beautiful are always wanted. Since infancy, it seemed, people had been close by to say how much they wanted her, wanted for her, were willing to pay for her. She had changed hands more times than she remembered, and often it was her ugly addiction that put her up for sale again. It took time with some people, with others it seemed only a day or two before she had become too terrified to go on being beautiful.

Yes, her beauty would run out as her fear grew. She was lovely in almost all things, laughing, weeping, running, sleeping, but in fear she changed. Always in her eyes, though. She had big, silver eyes, they glowed often. Everything that happened between her ears came through in her eyes. They made her lovely, but they almost made her ugly.

When she could not take anymore fear, it would show in her eyes. The silver would fade and all that would be left were the little black dots of her pupils. While this may not seem ugly, it changed her whole image.

With her eyes fixed in a stare like that, many people would see her for what she was: a terrified little girl. Even in her days as a full-grown woman, her eyes showed innocence. And who wants to see a terrified innocent staring back at them?

And so it was that she was being sold again.

She was virtually naked on the platform that once revolved. A gauzy, transparent cloth was tied loosely around her hips, and it sagged just enough for her right hip to be almost fully exposed. That was all the clothing she was afforded.

She was a strange demoness. So timid. But the proof was on her skin. Curved scarlet markings on either side of her face, reaching from the corner of her jaw to her high cheekbones. And on the inside of her legs, similar markings. She was expensive because of this. ‘Demonesses fuck the best’ people would say.

How many people had bought her as a concubine? She couldn’t say. Enough.
And her next and last master would want her for just that purpose.

For all his talk and noble air, he was still a man. A demonic man, but that made very little difference to him.

He was a different kind of demon, not as human looking as her. He was a more classic kind of demon. Tall, well over eight feet, with snake’s eyes and a long tail. For his kind, for most demon males in fact, he was rather handsome. His jaws were straight and narrow, with no teeth hanging out at odd angles the way it was with other demons. He was scaly and a dark red color. The scales were smooth almost skin like in texture.

I believe it was his eyes that confirmed any doubts of his less-than-holy lineage. They were cold. It was a coldness that no many see even in demons. It came from somewhere outside of him, but had taken root within and grown. His eyes did change occasionally, sometimes brightening with laughter, sometimes gleaming with a thought.
They were not as honest as hers were, but few people are nearly as honest as she was. His eyes were prone to lie, as if they had been made to toy with others. He was very good at toying with people.

He had started a career of it when he was younger, and now lived off the riches that reaped. And there were many such riches. Sometimes money, sometimes information. Which of these was worth more all depended on who he was talking to.

Whatever the circumstances, he had plenty of both.

She was on the platform when he first saw her. Her wrists and ankles were tied to a wooden post behind her, making her bend at an odd angle. There was a crude gag across her mouth, a piece of dirty cloth tied behind her head and held between her jaws.

It crossed his mind that this was to suggest what her ideal purpose as a slave was, though the angle did very little to make her look tempting. He overlooked this and let his mind revel in the possibilities.

It is important for you to know that he was not evil. Nor was she. As demons go, they were both remarkably humane. But let it not be said that they were pillars of virtue. He was experienced in cruelty, for all that he had tried to leave that part of himself to the ages. She, for all her honesty and fear, had dreams of freedom, and would kill to achieve them. The old saying fits; you can lead a demon to holy water, but you can’t make them drink it.

No one in the underground market was particularly righteous, in fact. Be they human or demon, the denizens of the place were not on the moral upper crust of society.

One of these people was the son of her owner. He was a young human, not too far into his prime, and he had a way about him that made him almost irresistible.

It was something in the way he spoke. The words themselves never seemed important, but the way his tongue shaped them made him seem godly to others. For this he often had his choice of women to sleep with.

She, his father’s slave girl, was his latest interest. She returned his feelings, so taken by his looks and his kind tongue.

These were the three that made up the strange love triangle that was born underground.

She, the lovely demoness named Lila, loved the human boy, the raven-haired Nomare, and the demon Kyichi, so taken by Lila, found himself in a bitter rivalry with Nomare for her.

It all began as potential buyers climbed onto the platform to inspect the wares.