Bound by Midnight's Spell

Chapter 4

As Elena emerged from her room, the air crackled with an unsettling tension that clung to every corner of the house. Her hands trembled as she made her way to the living room, a sense of foreboding gnawing at her insides.

"What's happening, Iva?" Uncle George's voice quivered with apprehension, while exiting his office.

Iva's gaze darted toward Elena, her eyes ablaze with a wrath that sent a chill down Elena's spine. "I found Elena—naked," Iva declared, her voice laced with disgust. "She was trying to seduce and taint Peter."

Uncle George's expression twisted with shock and disbelief. "What?" He glanced at Elena, who stood frozen, unable to comprehend the gravity of the accusation.

"That wretched creature," Iva spat, her words venomous. "After all we've done—feeding her, giving her shelter—this is how she repays us."

"I can't believe this," Uncle George murmured, his disbelief palpable. "Elena wouldn't—"

"Don't be naive, George," Iva interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is the reality of that creature. She's a manipulator, a disgrace to our family. She is exactly like her mother, creating any opportunity to spread her legs. You know that she was pregnant when she got married? Like mother, like daughter. They both disgust me, and we need to take the appropriate measures."

Elena's mind reeled with the magnitude of the accusations, as she was shocked by her aunt’s words, especially the ones addressed to her mother. This was one of the first times that her aunt gave Elena some sort of information about her mother, aside from some occasional insults.

Uncle George's gaze darted between his wife and Elena, his brows furrowed in apprehension. "What... what do you mean, Iva? What are you planning to do?"

"We need to eliminate this problem, George," she declared, her voice laced with a cold determination. "We cannot afford to let someone like her poison Peter's future."

"But how? What do you have in mind?"

Iva's gaze turned fierce, her eyes narrowing with a calculated malice. "There's only one solution to our situation," she hissed. "The Slave House."

Elena's breath caught in her throat at the mention of those chilling words. The Slave House was a notorious and dread-inducing place, whispered about in hushed tones, a pit of despair and torment where the unfortunate souls banished there faced unspeakable horrors.

"No," Elena gasped, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with horror.

Iva's lips curled into a cruel smile at the shock evident in Elena's eyes. "Yes," she sneered. "That's where she belongs. Let her rot there. That's the only fate suitable for such filth."

Uncle George recoiled in disbelief, his mind struggling to grapple with the monstrous suggestion. "Iva, you can't be serious! The Slave House... It's...extreme. She will not survive there."

Iva cut him off with a steely glare. "That’s not my problem. It's the only way to protect our family's honor," she asserted, her voice resolute. "We'll make sure she's never a stain on our lives again."

Elena's heart pounded in her chest, terror seizing her as the reality of the situation sank in. The mere thought of being condemned to the depths of such an abominable place sent chills down her spine. Trapped in the horror of the moment, she realized the gravity of the impending fate that awaited her.

The Slave House was notorious for its unyielding and brutal methods of discipline. It thrived on breaking spirits and bending wills, employing extreme measures to train its captives, heedless of whether they lived or perished under its iron-fisted regime.

Those who endured the arduous trials of discipline within the Slave House were branded, marked for life by the indelible stain of ownership. Their branded flesh was a testament to their doom, sealing their fate in perpetuity. Once marked, there was no escape, no reprieve from the perpetual servitude that awaited them.

The horrors didn't end within its walls. Those who survived the unfathomable ordeal of the Slave House were deemed worthy for purchase by the super-rich elite of each realm. Sold off to families of immense wealth and influence, they became disposable pawns in a world of opulence and decadence, their lives subject to the whims and caprices of their affluent owners.

In the annals of the supernatural world, the Slave House remained an abyss of despair, a place where hope went to die, and once ensnared within its clutches, there was no escape.

Elena's world shattered as her aunt's cruel pronouncement echoed through the room.

"P-please, Aunt Iva, Uncle George, I didn't do anything! I am begging you to spare me." Elena's words hung in the air, a desperate refrain, but they fell on deaf ears.

Aunt Iva's response was swift and heartless. Her venomous tone sliced through the air. "You'll get what you deserve, Elena. Finally, I won't have to see your disgusting face every day."

As Elena knelt, vulnerable and broken, the room became a theater of cruelty. Kicks rained down on her fragile form, each impact stealing the breath from her lungs. Her pleas turned into choked sobs, but mercy remained elusive.

"Help me, George. Let's rid ourselves of this burden."

Together, they seized Elena's underweight body with a forceful grip, callously dragging her toward the awaiting car. The engine roared to life, a mechanical herald of her descent into the abyss.

An hour later, they arrived at their destination—a pair of towering gates guarded by armed sentinels, an imposing fortress that housed the accursed Slave House.

As the car approached the imposing gates, armed guards stood sentry, their watchful eyes casting an unsettling aura over the scene. The vehicle came to a halt, and the guards, their faces obscured by shadows, eyed the newcomers warily.

"What's your business here?" one guard barked, his voice resonating with authority.

Aunt Iva, her facade of confidence faltering slightly, responded in a shaky voice, "We... We're here to drop someone."

The guards exchanged a silent nod before allowing them passage. The gates creaked open, granting access into the ominous domain of the Slave House.

Their unease grew palpable when a figure emerged, knocking on their car window with an authoritative presence.

"Follow me," they commanded tersely.

A shiver ran down Elena's spine as the figure directed them to exit the vehicle. As they stepped onto the frigid ground, the weight of their surroundings bore down on them, a chilling reminder of the horrors that awaited within the confines of the Slave House. With a heavy heart and mounting dread, Elena faced the grim certainty that her fate had been irrevocably sealed within these walls.

The masked figure, an enigmatic presence, wielded a tablet with an air of authority.

Each question fired from the masked figure's lips felt like a cold, calculated blow. Gender, age, health, family ties—the interrogation pierced through Elena's soul. Aunt Iva responded to every inquiry, her voice a blend of reluctance and spite.

The figure inputted the details into the tablet, each tap sealing Elena's fate further. The air crackled with tension as the masked figure delivered the ultimatum. "Once you sign, there's no turning back. Once in the system, it's for life. You will not be able to change your minds and reverse this decision. This transaction will reward you with 30,000 credits."

Aunt Iva's disdainful gaze bore into Elena with an intensity that froze her blood. With a venomous glare, she and Uncle George affixed their signatures to the digital document.

"The transaction is complete," the figure announced stoically, while leading them towards the exit. "You are free to leave."

With one last venomous glare directed at Elena, Aunt Iva and Uncle George departed, leaving behind a trembling figure enveloped in despair and shattered hope. The weight of finality bore down upon Elena, the realization sinking in that her life had been irrevocably traded away, just as it was on the cusp of beginning. Her heart quivered with the crushing weight of an unknown future—a future stolen before it even had the chance to exist.

Almost immediately, two figures dressed in black came to her.

“Follow me.” one of them said in a firm tone.

She nodded her head and in the dimly lit corridors of the Slave House, Elena followed the two figures dressed in black, their identities obscured by masks that hid everything but their eyes.

As they navigated the labyrinthine hallways, Elena's trepidation deepened. At every turn, she noticed numerous doors, each equipped with an electronic pad requiring access cards and encrypted codes. The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave—escape from this place was an impossibility.

The figures ushered Elena into a clinical chamber, where machines hummed with an eerie precision, needles gleamed under sterile lights, and the antiseptic odour hung thick in the air. Her heart raced, each thud echoing her rising trepidation.

A command, crisp and authoritative, cut through the tense silence.

"Undress. Now." The figures left no room for hesitation, their masked faces betraying no emotion. Elena's hands trembled as she fumbled with the fabric of her modest dress, peeling away the layers that shielded her vulnerability.

Naked, exposed, she felt a sudden vulnerability that pierced her soul. The figures, devoid of empathy, continued their clinical procession. One of them retrieved a device with a probing light, scanning her body methodically.

As the examination continued, they measured her height, weight, and dimensions with chilling precision.

A needle punctured her skin, drawing blood. The metallic tang added another layer of discomfort to her growing unease. The figures proceeded with the clinical routine, seemingly indifferent to the anguish etched on Elena's face.

The c****x of the ordeal arrived with a sudden, sharp pinch on her neck. Elena gasped, a hand instinctively flying to the point of intrusion. The figure responsible for the discomfort spoke with a menacing calmness, "Your identification tracker. Attempt to remove it, run away, and you will be killed on the spot."

A chill settled in the room, a palpable reminder that her fate was no longer her own. Terror gripped Elena as she stared into the abyss of her new reality.

After they finished with her, they gave her a gray jumpsuit, which she dressed quickly. She hastily dressed, grateful for the modest covering that restored a semblance of decency. The figures led her through a series of sterile corridors to another room, where her image was captured with clinical precision.

The camera flashed, immortalizing her new identity. Fingers rolled across a small ink pad, imprinting her fingertips onto a form. The monotony of the process seemed mechanical, devoid of the humanity it stripped away from her.

As the photographer stuck to her jumpsuit a laminated card bearing the alphanumeric code "59675C," her identity was rewritten. She was no longer Elena but a mere designation—a cipher in the labyrinthine corridors of the Slave House. The operator's stern voice warned her to forget her past, severing ties with anyone and anything from the outside world.

In the dim light, the operator recited a litany of rules. Elena nodded mechanically, each command further embedding her subservience.

Once the process concluded, Elena was led to a communal dorm. Rows of bunk beds stretched into the shadows, a stark reminder of the countless souls confined in this clandestine hell. The figure gestured towards a vacant bunk, handing her a thin pillow and a meager blanket.

In the confines of her small bunk, Elena curled up under the thin blanket, seeking solace within its inadequate warmth. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, her body a battleground of pain and her spirit aching with the burden of her shattered existence. Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks, carrying the weight of her despair, as she fell asleep.

Not after a long time, a blaring alarm pierced the dorm's silence, Elena's heart leaped into her throat. Startled, she scrambled out of her bed, her senses jolted awake by the sudden urgency, and looked around scared. The urgent shuffling and hasty arrangements sent her pulse racing with confusion and apprehension.

Instinctively following suit, Elena hastened to straighten her bed, her movements hurried and hands trembling. Caught in the collective momentum, she positioned herself in alignment with the row of beds, mimicking the others' stance in the dimly lit space.

A wave of panic surged through her; she was utterly clueless about what was transpiring. She dared not deviate from others. After all that, she was inside the infamous Slave House. Casting a nervous glance ahead, she found herself flanked by other women—anonymous figures clad in identical attire, bearing numbers like indelible marks upon their uniformed garb.

A sudden hush descended, punctuated only by the sound of shuffling feet and the rhythmic beating of her heart. The air was fraught with tension, an invisible weight pressing down on each captive soul in that grim assembly.

Then, a chilling voice shattered the stillness, cutting through the quiet like a blade. The single word—"slaves, prepare for inspection"—rang out, the sharpness of the command sending a jolt of fear down Elena's spine.

The silence that ensued was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable in the air. Elena's breaths came in shallow gasps, her eyes darting nervously around the room as she braced herself for what would come next, trapped in a world where her will was no longer her own.