First Day in The Slave Trade Game
The blue blooded guard pulled on my leash coldly. I know he’ll do as the high bloods ask, but you can’t tell if he wants to. Either way I hate him.
I just growled as he pushed me into a cage. I look around and there was a small girl. She had cooper blood; the only reason I know was the deep cooper tears dripping down her cheeks.
“Mister? Are you going to hurt me?” she whimpered. I looked down at myself; I know I don’t look scary. Stomach sunken in, red eyes, sharp claws and fang, real short, small horns, wearing nothing but raged brown shorts, tanned leather collar, and rough ropes tightly tied around my wrist.
“No.” I say dully looking over the small girl. Her black hair curled past her waist mated down in mud and dirt, her horns curled in spirals, burses over her body, claws broken, fangs hung over her thin crack lips, her brown dress hung loosely on her scrawny body, her cheeks