|[ DEATH'S APPRENTICE ]|

[Chapter One]

WrellHaven: 2nd District

Present Day

I powdered my nose, looking at my reflection in the mirror in front of me. My black hair was long and curled down to the small of my back and over my shoulders, making my skin look even paler and my dark eyes larger. It could have looked glamorous on some, I supposed. But paired with my skinny frame and utter lack of curves, it only left me looking ill. Though I was not as skeletal as I once had been, I still never seemed to eat enough to gain weight, and so whilst girls my age had blossomed into women I had retained the frame of a child. A girl stood beside me, perched on black heels. She had her blonde hair pulled back into tight curls that bounced on top of her head like golden coils. Every inch of her slender body was smooth and curved. In every way that I was sharp, she was rounded to the point of perfection. I didn't hold it against her, though. Most girls here had that perfect body – I was just one of the unlucky few.

She caught my eye in the mirror and flashed a bright smile, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. Every girl here had it. That dejected look about them; a sadness that nothing could remove. She turned away, shoving her things under the sink and shutting the cupboard door. She was a good foot taller than me, and not just from her towering heels.

"Well..." she said, walking away, "Wish me good luck." She shut the bathroom door behind her and left me alone to stare at my small face. I had dark circles under my eyes – my job didn't allow much sleep – and I had a hollow look about me, as if something was eating through me. I had thought leaving my family would've brought me freedom, and peace. After the initial shock of being on my own had faded, things had seemed to be getting better. But all it did was bring me more sadness. And more pain. More hurt, and more abuse.

My eyes fell to the bruise on my arm, four blue-purple lines marked on my skin. Another perched on my shoulder, ink on the parchment of my skin. I shuddered as the memory of how I got them filled my mind. I shook my head, trying to force it out. I wasn't very successful.

There was a knock at the door and I flinched. All those years when a knock at the door had meant a beating had left me terrified of the noise. But it wasn't my father at the door. As I stared into the mirror a middle-aged woman entered, holding a bag. Her makeup was extravagant, and her eyebrows too thin. Lines creased her face, though she had furiously tried to smooth them with more makeup. Her cold, blue eyes watched me with a haughty gaze. Mrs Stochlim. I hated her. Just the sight of her made my blood boil with resentment and contempt.

"Ahh Cora, getting ready I see." She said in a terse snap, stalking over to me. Her heels clicked against the floor harshly and she shoved the bag into my arms. Her voice had a faint accent to it, where she hung onto her 'r's and 'e's as she talked. "Mr Pevell has been quite specific that you wear this for him this evening. Please, get dressed now. He is waiting in room 2E." I dropped the bag onto the counter behind me and sighed as she began to exit the room. "Oh and remember," she suddenly turned, giving me a sweet smile. Though as warm as it looked I could see the coldness in her eyes. "What the customer wants, the customer gets. Your last few visitors have had a few words said about your lack of eagerness. I want to hear comments of the highest regard from Pevell. He is one of our richest customers, and I would like to keep him on." her smiled faded as she added, "And if you disappoint him, you'll be out." with no more words she turned and left, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her. The silence that filled her absence quivered with my anger.

She didn't care for any of us. She only cared about the money we made her, and the rich aristocrats we attracted. And if I didn't do what her wanted... I'd be out. I felt my heart slid into my stomach as I turned and looked down at the bag. I couldn't live on the streets, and no work places nearby would accept a whore like me for service. I sighed and opened the bag, feeling soft material inside. I pulled out a flimsy black piece of silk and felt my heart race quicken, slamming into my ribs. My nerves were set alight, and I could already feel tension building in my chest. This shouldn't be so hard for me anymore. I had been here for 12 years. True, Mrs Stochlim had only put me into this kind of work three years ago, but still. I shouldn't still shy away from the skimpy outfits. Shouldn't still shiver in fear at the thought of the men who visited our rooms. Shouldn't vomit at the memories of their hands on me.