Your War Trophy

It was cold in the room, as was the norm ever since she was dragged off her warm and sweet-smelling homeland. As the door opened, Huitzilin raised her gaze. Before her, stood two Invaders. Their strange, abnormally tough armours made them look brutish and twice their actual size. The larger man stepped forward, his gaze cold and distant as he judged her like an object. Noble: "Take it off." Trembling fingers moved to the lace of her intricate huipil. The fine cotton, dyed with cochineal and indigo, had been woven by the most skilled tailors in Tenochtitlan. And now, she was stripping it off just like that. Huitzilin: "As you command, my lord."