Olena was not at all sure how she felt about this new outlook.

It was hard to put words to her feelings, at least in this tongue. Perhaps she would be able to use her native language to properly vent her frustration. But most of the time, those who ‘owned’ her preferred if she stuck to the common tongue. After all, nothing turned off a customer more than thinking that they were being talked about being their back. That specific instance had caused her a severe beating, in the beginning, a lesson she only had to learn once. After that, she rarely spoke in any other language, unless she was alone.

It had been nice, in the brief interlude with her sister, to be able to freely speak their language without any retribution. But with her sister’s death came the loss of that freedom. She wasn’t to speak it unless it was safe to do so. And that didn’t happen very often.

Now, in the solitude of the steel cage, she felt safe to go off on her tangent. Sometimes, she’d speak to one of her long-dead family members, hoping that they’d be listening from the other side. That way, at least someone heard her complaints, even if nothing would ever come of it. When she was mad, it was her father she spoke to, for he had always had a patient ear and didn’t mind letting her vent before bringing her back down from her anger to center her. When she was sad, she would talk to her mother, picturing laying her head on her lap while she comforted her. Gossipping was done in the company of her sisters as she made an effort to keep the memories of their giggles alive in her mind.

But when she was frustrated, or confused, she would talk to Dima. He had always been faithful to her, even in youth. And when there were things she was unsure of or didn’t want to tell her parents, he was always there for her. Bright curls, wide smile and gentle kisses-- that’s what she wanted to remember as she started to think on her new fate.

The auction had recently ended, but she hadn’t participated in it. No, as a ‘broken’ slave, she was first offered up privately to hopefully garnish the most funds. Esdras had done that for her, had made sure she didn’t end up in the main auction, where she would likely return to a whore house until she was well enough to work. He had shown her kindness in minimizing her potential debt as possible, which offered her, for the first time, a real chance at freedom.

When they had finally made shore, they already had a game plan in place to keep her from the brothels. In her mind, she had thought that, while it wasn’t freedom, it was potentially the next best thing. By selling her at the slave market and not the auction, he had explained, they had the option of being a bit more selective. Plus, if they could find someone with a bit more compassion, perhaps they would be able to ensure that one day she would have her freedom. In that, Olena couldn’t help but agree.

Now, waiting for her new owner to come to collect her, dressed haphazardly in the shirt Esdras has given her that first day, along with an oversized pair of pants, she could feel doubt slowly bubbling up within her. Which was why she called on the image of her childhood sweetheart. Dmytros had always been a calming force in her life, patient and sweet with his adoration of her. If there had been any doubt in his feelings for her, it was easily quieted with the simple was he always made time for her. She always tried to age him, tried to see him as he might have been, should he still have been alive. His hair, just as curly, kept neat to ease farm life, had kept its soft blonde color because of extended sun exposure. His skin always had a rich tan, his clothes always dirty from time spent out in the fields. His hands, calloused and worn, would slip into hers and she would ease into the comforts of her own imagination.

So, sitting against the bars of her jail, she pictured his rough hands moving into hers. Pictured them sitting under the tree in their meadow, her head resting on his lean shoulder. He used to trace her palm, following the lines, settling his fingers on the center as she wrapped her hands around it. He would follow that same path up her arm as if his simple touch would heal the wounds that other men had placed there. He would sit silently, patiently waiting for her to finally open up about her worries as if the fields could wait for her to relax. The babbling of the busy market transformed into the flowing stream. This place was one of the few she could genuinely remember from home, its image conjured up to comfort her on her worst days.

His image pressed a kiss to her forehead, easing the lines that were far more defined than he had ever known. ”You should worry less.” She had never heard him speak in the tongue she used now, so it was always the rich and romantic language from home that came from his lips. ”It will be alright.”

Her eyes rolled as her fingers laced through his as if he had no clue about anything she’d been through. As much as she tried to keep him from her mind during the worst of it, he would still be there for her, comforting her afterward. And now, his reaction was as it had always been, even in life. ”That’s easy for you to say, Dmytros. You just have to watch.” Even though she was sure that his fortune, standing by and watching her suffer, was just as hard as living it was.

”He does not seem like a bad man. And he paid far less than the last few. Just think, you should be able to pay off the debt in a year, with enough saved to start new.” His hand came up to her head, slowly working its way through her thick auburn hair. ”I do not have faith in these men, but perhaps this one will prove me wrong.”

She liked to picture him mad about her fate. Because it wasn’t fair that she was the only one who hated the dice she had rolled

”I could still end up on my back.” She reminded him as he worked out the knots in her hair. ”Just because I will be working in a home does not mean that I would not end up doing the same thing I have before, just for one man.” Her pessimism was saved for these interactions, for if she let them bleed into her mind, she would have never survived this long.

Her eyes met his, and his smile was gentle. ”True, but I do not think that will be the case. Esdras proved himself to be an honest man, even for a sailor.” They both had a distaste for sailors, ”He kept you safe on the ship, protected you from his fellow sailors. He is oddly invested in you, and I think he has already made a measure of the man who now owns you.” His lips dropped to her shoulder, ”Just keep your clothes on around him and you’ll be fine.” She pretended to be offended, swatting his shoulder as he laughed.

”For that comment, I should leave you here alone.” His arms immediately moved around her with the threat of her exit. He moved her around, so that she was now in between his legs, back pressed against his chest. His head rested on her shoulder as if to hold her in place a little longer. Her sigh was one of content, one of genuine happiness. ”A year. That is nothing, right?”

His head bobbed in a nod, ”As long as you behave, a year is nothing. And then, you can do as you wish. Maybe open a small shop in town to take orders for the wealthy. Create the finest chitons, making your own lace-- all that could happen in a year.” He was right, a year really wasn’t much in the scheme of things. In that time, she could do her house chores, work a little on the side, and save up every extra cent to be able to make her own way. ”I have faith in you, Lena. You can do this.” Without her needing to say anything, he cut right to the core of her concerns-- that she would fail and never be on her own.

Funny how your daydreams always said what needed to be heard.

Anyone looking at the red headed slave wouldn’t have noticed anything odd. Her head was pressed to the back of the bars, eyes closed. People walking by would have either thought her asleep or dead, instead of lost in the safety of her mind.

In her mind, leaning against his back, Olena was content. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the idea of him until she was here, with him. It had been months since she had retreated into the safety of her meadow, too high on drugs or drunk on wine to be able to properly call him to memory. Maybe it was because she would be able to sense his disappointment in her, in how poorly she was coping. Even if he would have never been that way, she knew he would have hated to see her like that.

She sighed softly, ”I hope you are right. I do not know if I can handle another letdown, not like after Vira died.” Damn it, she needed a victory. She needed something to swing her way, instead of the horrible way her life had gone. Raped, tortured and defiled, all before she was 15 years old. Suffering had been her closest friend, and she was sure she could only cope a little longer before she fully gave up.

Gave up and joined him in the afterlife.

There was a loud bang, steel against steel, that dissolved her meadow back into the holding area. Her head shot forward as if she had been sleeping. Her eyes tried to adjust to the brightness, but it took long, causing a headache. Her head fell forward to her knees, protecting her eyes from the light. She tried to sink back into the happiness of her dream, but it was lost-- he must have returned to the other side.

Without her.

Sighing, she let her eyes finally adjust, knowing that nothing would cure a headache but sleep as she stood, pacing the length of the cage. Once, when she was in the home of her senator, he’d taken her to a menagerie, where wild animals were kept in cages, toured about for the delight of others. She felt like one of the cats she’d seen, less lethal but just as sad. Pacing back and force, hoping for someone to release her so that she could attack, or run. Or both. Some would have said she looked just as exotic, her veins almost see through with her pale skin, hair the rare color of rubies, freckles across the bridge of her nose, dancing down her chest.

For the first time, she felt sympathy for the animals in cages, eyes staring at her as they passed.

She moved back into the shadows, trying to hide those who wanted to look at her. She knew the men were hoping that she was going to be housed in one of the local brothels, while the woman stared enviously at her coloring.

Maybe she would yell at her new owner, for taking so long to collect her after the initial purchase was completed. Her hand fell to the leather bracelet on her wrist, the only thing that had survived her past life. The gift from Dima was well worn, plain in its braiding. But it was the only piece of him that she had been able to carry from life to life, and now, it felt like her last piece of sanity.

Damn it, where was this Lazaros of Vlahakis?