They parade me through the lower city, a spectacle for the rabble. A queen in rags. Their jeers are like insects buzzing, insignificant. But one man's stare was different. Not hatred. Not mockery. Pure, undiluted hunger. He watched the sway of my hips, the way the torn silk clings to my ass, and I saw his cock twitch against his trousers. His shame was instant, delicious. He looked away, but his body had already betrayed him. This is the truth they deny: their civilization is a thin veneer. Scratch the surface, and every last one of them is just an animal yearning to be unleashed. To fuck. To claim. To be dominated. I am not their prisoner. I am the mirror they're too terrified to look into.