Rosaline's birth had been a shock not only to her family members, but also to the rest of the village. Most thought it was a message from the Gods themselves, punishing this child for the misconducts of her lineage over many generations. While some wanted her dead or out of their sight, others thought it would only anger Them more and bring the wrath of the Almighty upon them. After seven days and seven nights of deliberation, it had been chosen that the child could live. Under constant supervision, mostly from her mother, she sailed through the years following other people's decision about her fate. She dreamt of refusing people's offers and plans to make her own. Something as simple as slipping away for a quick stroll around town by herself, or playing around with the few other kids around. Perhaps even to become the baker's apprentice and learn to make that delicious sweet bread she so loved, or even try her hand at sewing just like the old lady that lived in the cottage next door. But hands were exactly her problem. Just like her arms, and just like her legs, they had been smitten away by the Gods. She had been born entirely limbless.
When she was around twenty years of age, she had become quite the popular attraction during the summer festival, attracting tourists and passing merchants, all eager to take a look at her for a handful of copper coins. Year after year, words were spread and more people gathered to come and take a look at her. And not only because she was unlike anything anyone had ever seen before, but also because she was terrifyingly beautiful. The delicate features of her visage bestowed upon her a grace and a look of royalty unmatched for miles around. Sitting on a pile of straw the same rich golden color as her curly hair, she posed and stared back at the passing crowd. While her empty shoulders were exposed to the scorching July sun through her stylish sleeveless bustier, a soberly decorated but tasteful piece of cloth had been tied around her waist, leaving the state of her hips as clear as the skies above. Her eyes charmed and broke the hearts of the men that met her gaze and swapped the looks of jealousy on other women's faces for compassion and kindness as they circled in their periphery.
On one busy day just like the others, a man stood out in the crowd and flashed a leather stachel towards her. Slowly rotating as to put him in her line of sight, she stared back at him, her brows lowering slightly to indicate her incomprehension.
"Lass please", the man pleaded. "How many silver pieces for a song?"
The crowd stopped moving and the whole square fell silent. People looked at the man, still holding his satchel in front of him, then at Rosaline. A few years of visitors and proposals had taught her the powers of persuation as well as a good knowledge of the value of these kind of trades. Passersby had paid for a variety of requests such as a single kiss or a night with her, but all had been refused. It was the first time, however, that someone had requested her to sing. She smirked and looked up, as if trying to decipher an answer hidden in the abstract shapes of the clouds. Finally, she spoke.
"I think 10 would be quite enough."
Somehow, the crowd had just become even quieter than before. From between her lips came a voice so pure and so delicate that people felt it running on their skin with the smoothness of silk. It was like honey slowly running down a piece of polished exotic wood, tasted like morning dew revealed by the light of a full moon, and somehow made her look even more gorgeous. In an instant, an assistant collected the coins from the man's shaking fingers. People usually didn't carry around silver pieces in this kind of town, let alone a full satchel. The same assistant promptly came back to Rosaline and presented her a bowl of cold water. She craned her neck to drink from it before clearing the hair from her face in a single but precise movement. She closed her eyes.
She sang about the birds and the beasts. She sang about how, if she had wings, she'd dance with the eagle in the skies and join the jays in the trees; if she had fins, she'd swim to the end of the ocean and back, or dive to it's deepest reaches to meet the Gods of the seas. She'd would run in the hills with the goats and gallop to her heart's content, the grass forever rolling beneath her hooves.
She stood perfectly still, with the exception of her ribs moving along with the rhythm of her words. As she sang, birds stopped chirping. They gathered on neighbouring branches and on windowsills. A cat had rubbed itself against her back before curling up in a ball before her, respectfully repressing it's purr. In the end, Rosaline sang about what she would do if she was just like everyone else. She would wear dresses and skirts, and shoes and gloves, and rings and anklets, and pants sleeved shirts. She would dance through the night or pick flowers or braid her hair, shake people's hands and serve beer at night during the festival. With her eyes open, she paced around her pen with confidence. Tears rolled down people's cheeks as they stared at her infirmity and felt it with all their heart. She moved towards random spectators in the crowd, triggering a new flow of tears everytime she swung herself forward to take another feeble step. Unable to clear it out of her way, straw piled up at her hips with every motion. She jerked barren shoulders towards awe-struck spectators to emphasize her distress. Making it back to her original position, she let out her last note. Head and shoulders raised towards the sky, she remained still.
The crowd, shaken by this exquisite display, slowly started moving again. Almost imperceptively, she bowed, her hair draping the sides of her face in the process. Coins and flowers were dropped before her, people muttered prayers as they passed by, nervously trying to make eye contact with her while still being very much intimidated by her performance. When she straightened herself and thanked them, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Waddling to try to make herself comfortable on the hard pavement she had just swept, two assistants came out of the shadows. While one spread out a new layer of straw, a young woman just about her age took her away for a quick clean up.
"Thanks Charlotte." Rosaline said.
"I never expected you to grace us of your voice during the festival!" Charlotte wringed a wet cloth over a bucket filled with cold water and delicately cleaned the dust out of her face. "This may have been your best performance yet."
"I figured we could use the money from a crowd that big."
"If the whole country didn't know of you yet, they'll certainly do from now on. This will be great for business around town."
She wiped the tear with her thumb but another followed in the same path. Rosaline trembled on her stool and forced her eyes shut before breathing in deeply.
"I'm sorry it's just... Sometimes my mind gets too close to the sun when I sing." She sighed. "The landing back to reality is a lot more rough after my wings have burned down."
Charlotte kept her words to herself out of respect for her friend. With her face clean and dry, she drew back the lines that had been smudged around her eyes.
"Could you tie my hair up? The day's been particularly hot and I can't stop sweating back there."
Using a simple ribbon, she freed her neck of hair and put them up in a tight ponytail. When she was done, she walked around the stool again to face her and put her hands on her dulled shoulders, soothingly running her palms across them.
"Words go around fast in this town. Next thing you know people start asking for a verse for a piece of copper. Keep the price high, alright?"
"You got it."
Charlotte put her arms around her cursed body and the girls hugged, Rosaline only hooking her chin around her friend's neck. She rose in the air again and was set on a bed of fresh straw before the hungry crowd. Her exposed neck gave them a sight to behold as she begun posing again, a smile as luminous as the afternoon sun, waving at them as best as she could.
Before long, passersby started paying more and more for her to sing. At first, they tried to keep it at once every few other days to prevent getting too much attention, but the damage had already been done. Soon enough Rosaline had to sing at least once a day, each time collecting a small fortune on top of the regular fee. As summer passed, crops matured, were sold and the festival ended, but not the flow of customers. During a particularly rainy few days, during which no business could be done, the inn was expanded to three times it's initial size. New chairs and tables were built and set. Where drunken souls usually gathered to brawl after a night of solid drinking, they erected a small podium that could accomodate several people standing. From then and on, five days a week, people could pay a hefty price to come and hear the town's famous golden voice sing.
Every talent in town had been put to contribution for her performances. The best dishes and brews were served, the woodworking had been redone on the pillars and countertops, rich aromas drifted through the evening air. Charlotte, a simple merchant's girl made Rosaline's most trusted assistant, was always the one to carry her in and out. She came out from behind a curtain and set her on an thin embroidered cushion before vanishing again. Even hidden from the sun's warm afternoon rays, she was still a sight to behold. Her curly hair was decorated to season's taste, was it late blooming flowers, a bouquet of brightly colored fallen leaves, or even elegant empty twigs and a single leaf of mistletoe. Her sleeveless dresses barely brushed the cushion as she sung, rocking softly from side to side. After only a few weeks, she had added several songs to her repertoire and sometimes even sang two of them in a single night, one usually being quite enough to quench the crowd's thirst for the sound of her voice.
On the day of her 23nd birthday, an unfamiliar face rolled into town. Wearing a thick leather armor and a steel sword at his side, a man lead a caravan decorated with the king's coat of arms, a howling wolf. That night, and the two ensuing ones, he and his squire paid their dues to come and hear the famed performance. Sitting at the back of the room, their presence made everyone uncomfortable, like they were being judged by the King himself. They spoke to each other at low voice, exchanging remarks and whatnots. On their third night hearing Rosaline sing, they requested to see her in person. They were promptly brought to a small dimly lit back room where she and Charlotte were crammed along with a single chair, a makeshift mirror made of polished metal, as well as several combs and ink pots.
"Miss Rosaline Francoeur?" He spoke firmly. It sounded less like a question and more like an assertion.
"Yes." She straightened herself and lifted her chin slightly. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
He cleared his throat. "I am Sir Clément, Knight under King Farrand, the SoulCrusher. Have you heard of him?" Again, this question seemed part of required protocol.
"I have indeed heard of his exploits, was it brandishing his blade against the barbarians in the north or leading the brave people of..."
"Then keep these formalities for his Grace," he interrupted. "I am here under his orders to assess of your existence and state and bring you back to the castle."
"My... state?"
"Indeed, Miss. Words of your situation have spread over the countryside and recently reached My Lord's ears. He now wishes to acquire you."
"Acquire me? Last I checked I wasn't for sale, Knight!" She threw her shoulders backwards to assert her stance.
"There is no place for questionning. The King's words are truth and you might as well take them as so. Or else..."
He let his words sink in both girls' minds. She swallowed the sharp remarks out of her words before speaking again.
"But... what about my town? These are my people! How could I leave them?"
"Do not worry, the King also knows of your effects on this town's economy. This should prove to be a worthy compensation."
The squire behind him fetched a satchel from his belt and handed it over to the knight. He set it in Charlotte's palm who opened it and gasped loudly. Even in this light, Rosaline could see the gold coins shimmering on her friend's face.
The latter remained speechless, her eyes darting from the coins to her dear friend and to the coins again.
"We leave at dawn. And don't bother running away during the night. If you do, we'll come back here and burn the village to the ground."
Charlotte had been allowed to follow her friend for the journey up to the castle, but would be escorted back to the village the minute they dropped their shipment. They rode in the carriage for five days and five nights, only stopping twice a day, and a third time on the fourth day when the food stock had been entirely depleted. The squire and the knight took turn leading the caravan, which meant the girls had for only company a hunched up sleeping figure across the cabin from them. Rosaline had been set on one of her trusty cushions but the bumpy road made it difficult even for her to stay comfortable for a few minutes at a time. Charlotte often kept a stabilizing hand on her shoulder in case the cabin would jerk unexpectedly. Everytime the men switched spots, they'd have a brief chat outside before they'd start moving again. After that, they'd rummage through the bag of food and hand out pieces of stale bread or cheese, which Charlotte gently fed her friend under the nosy look of their companion.
On the last day, the squire threw himself on his bench after finishing his shift and, exhausted, quickly fell in a deep sleep. Sensing they were coming close to their destination, the girls risked exchanging a few words.
"What do you think wil happen to me, Charlotte?" Rosaline said in a whisper. "What could they possibly want of me?"
"I don't know.. Maybe he expects you to bring more money into his chests."
"That makes no sense. He could just demand more taxes from us. Collect the coins he thinks are superfluous to a countryside town."
"Or perhaps add you to his court? I've heard he hires all sorts of traveling performers."
"God..." She eyed the squire, who had started snoring. "What if I can't sing under such high pressure? Or maybe they'll throw me in jail with other prisonners for ripping off the kingdom, or.. or..."
Charlotte pulled her friend close and secured her in her frail arms, where she simply stayed, her face buried in Charlotte's neck. She slept like this for the rest of the trip, only to be awakened by the sound of the knight shouting to incoming guard towers to announce himself. When the gates were opened, the rough dirt road made way to a paved road. They followed it for another while before stopping again and heard the knight dismount. They had arrived.
The drowsing squire opened the side door and exited, leaving both girls alone inside. After a few minutes, the knight poked his head into the carriage and ordered Charlotte to stay put, since she would be leaving this instant. He vanished as suddenly as he appeared, only to be replaced by a woman a several years older than the girls. Her voice sounded rough, but her face showed kindness and goodwill.
"Good lord look at you! What a beautiful young lady! Come, there's a lot we need to show you."
She extended her hands towards Rosaline, who stiffened and turned her head towards her friend.
"What about my..."
"She'll be fine", assured the woman, "In a few months you'll forget all about her and your home village. Come, now. Come!"
She leaned deeper in the cabin as both girls exchanged a confusing lot of farewells and promises. Leaning against her friend's chest, she felt herself falling backwards as she transferred in the delicate hands of the woman. Looking back at Charlotte, anger, sadness, and distress quickly crept up her back. But, as she disappeared from her line of sight, she closed her eyes and found herself to feel strangely safe and at home, being held in a way like she had never been before. Charlotte and her mother had taken care of her the most, but even after 23 years there were still many things that bothered her. The sharp nails on her mother's fingers often scraped her skin or tore holes in her clothes. Charlotte, while still very capable, lacked the strength to carry her on longer distance, which made it very stressful for her to walk around town. The woman's hands were smooth and precise, but strong. A gentle hold on her rump kept her secured against her body, the other hand moving across her back, to one or another shoulders as she'd cut corners, rose several flights of stairs and walked quickly through the corridors. Surely this wasn't the first time she had done this... She knew what she was doing.
At the top of a long circular staircase, she pushed open a heavy wooden door and slipped through the opening before closing it behind them. The air inside was heavy with perfume and very poorly lit. Standing in the middle of the room was a bathtub that had been filled with hot water infused with all sorts of herbs and flowers, giving the open space it's caracteristic smell. Rosaline was set on a low bench and promply undressed, the woman's knife tearing through the laces of her corset, her blouse thrown over her head, the brief pants that covered her buttocks torn open. Transferred from the bench to the tub, she found comforting that the hot water barely reached her shoulders. The lady set her back against the side of the tub and proceeded to scrub several days of sweat and dirt off her body. The sweet aromas drifting through the air soothed Rosaline's worries and left her feeling woozy, her muscles managing to relax even in this situation.
Before she could even notice, she had been scooped out of the tub and dried, her hair combed and braided down her back. She found herself wearing an incredibly transparent tunic that enclosed her entire body, except for her head and where her arms would've been. Again secured in the woman's arms, they left the room by a second door leading to a narrow corridor. This one debouched on a wide circular room, which itself seemed to connect to a dozen other ones according to the number of doors she could count. She felt the thick carpet covering the center of the room under her rump and swung her shoulders around to fix her clothes. After a quick fix up of her hair, the woman crouched beside her.
"I'll leave you here, the others should be back anytime, now." She smiled and walked away towards the door they had entered.
"The others?!" Rosaline said, suddenly sober from her bath's fumes. "Wait! Wait!! How do I even..."
The door slammed shut, cutting off her cry for help. She looked down at her clothes and frowned. She had become used to being stared at and put on display by others, but this was definitely a novelty for her. Moving her shoulders around caused air to enter her clothes and she shivered. Were these the King's quarters? A trophy room? Was she a reward for a highly ranked knight? She could at least rule out the possibility of this being a torture chamber, considering the look of the carpets, paintings, and seats being displayed around her.
A voice rose from behind her back: "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"
It was another girl's. She turned around with difficulty on the long hair carpet to face the new arrival and couldn't help but gasp at her sight. She wore the same simple garnment that had been fitted to Rosaline, only it was a pale shade of blue instead of the golden hue of her own. She didn't need to look high up to meet her eyes. Her rump thumped softly on the wooded floors, only to be muffled by the thick carpet she soon proceeded on. Her hips, though wider than Rosaline's, showed no more legs than she had herself. Leaning on her right side, she used her single arm to lift herself up and move forward in short hops. A short left sleeve covered a left arm that ended barely lower than where it started.
Not knowing what to say or what to do, Rosaline lowered her head out of respect for the other woman.
"So... you are the one everybody has been talking about, huh?"
"I-I-I'm sss.. sorry?" She stuttered.
"Yes." She stopped in front of Rosaline and placed her hand flat on the ground before her. "We have heard of you. Girl with the golden voice. The King has been rambling about you for over 6 months now. It turns out the rumors were true."
"I didn't want to get into any trouble." She said, nervously waddling. "If this is some kind of prison.."
"Prison? No. Do not be scared! You will not get hurt. You are a maiden now. You are under the King's protection."
"A maiden?"
"Yes. Favorite of the King. He has been collecting for years. Sometimes he comes back from battle with a prize, like me, and sometimes he sends people to retrieve them."
She waved her hand towards Rosaline, who looked more confused than ever.
"My tribe was killed defending the desert to the south, but I was spared. I had to beg for money and food in my home village. People would spit in the sand or in my eyes. I was 12 when he brought me back and has been good to me ever since. I was the first."
Her eyes were narrow slits in her face, her skin the same color as the desert sand. Rosaline had already seen people of her kind around town. Her tongue still struggled to pronounce english words, miles away from the tongue clicks the sand people mostly used.
"He brought you back because of... this?" She jerked her right shoulder towards her, meaning to indicate her truncated body.
She moved her hand to her left arm. "Yes. He has been obsessed with woman like us ever since. I had no name back then. He gave me one. Opal. "
Rosaline turned around to looked at all the other doors leading to this circular room. Apart from the one she had just come through, there were no more than ten. The woman indicated a low table a few steps away and they both made their way to it, although Opal was much more agile than her. On it laid a basket of fresh fruits and bread.
"How many of us are there?" Rosaline asked.
"Do not let yourself be tricked." She said, reaching to grab an apple. "Half of these doors lead to empty rooms. With you there will be four of us."
She took a bite of her apple and set a few grapes down for Rosaline to eat. She wasn't hungry but ate anyways, leaning her body against the table to pick up the fruits using her lips. They were so juicy she almost squealed in delight. She imprecisely spat the seeds on the table and bent her torso forward to eat another one, using her shoulder to stabilize herself against the wooden surface. The sounds of the girls chewing was the only thing breaking the silence in the chamber. She finished her snack while Opal was still hard at work on her own.
"Opal," she looked at her inquisitively, "what use are we to him? Do we have to... Does he.." She hunched her shoulders forward in a futile effort to cover herself.
She groaned. "It has happened, but it not often. He has full mistresses for that", she answered, managing to look both jealous and relieved when pronouncing the word full.
"So, what do we do?"
"Whatever we want. We have personnal guard. If we want to go in the gardens, they bring us there. If we want to look over the peasants as they come to the thursday plead to the King, we can. When other diplomats expose their jewels and wear necklaces made out of gold, he sets us at a nearby table. Like his personal and living work of arts."
Rosaline took a few seconds to take it all in. She straightened herself and spat a lonely seed that had lodged itself in the back of her mouth before waddling back to where they had met on the long hair carpet. As she was eyeing a cushion that looked particularly comfortable, she heard voices coming from the biggest doors of them all, probably leading out of the quarters and to the castle itself. Two women were chatting together and soon enough she could make out their words quite clearly. When the gates opened, the armor of a silent soldier flashed and he bounced back to let the girls through.
They greeted Opal, all three exchanging all kinds of polite manners and small talks about how their respective days had been as normally as can be, while Rosaline remained stunned. She had heard of the rumors about her own incredible beauty flying around town, but all three woman in front of her were quite a sight to behold. Standing on two legs, the first one sported a tan that only someone from the Southern Isles could possibly have. Her long black hair cascaded all the way down her back to tickle her calves. Straightening herself after having kissed Opal on the cheek, she swung her hair backwards to reveal two shoulders without arms.
The second one seemed to originate from this kingdom, just like Rosaline. Her skin was as pale as her own, but her hair were a flamboyant shade of red. At the end of her single leg, the strap of her sandal was intricately laced around her ankle. The three fingers of her left hand held on to a walking stick that rhythmically hit the floor as she moved to and fro around her friends. Her right arm, while longer than Opal's, was short and twisted, partially hidden behind the folds of her sleeve. Their own tunics, while still similar to Rosaline's and Opal's, covered their legs, sweeping across the floor as they walked.
They had noticed Rosaline further down the room, but didn't seem to be in a hurry to come and greet her. The two legged girl passed by her without saying a word and disappeared immediately behind one of the doors. Having expected her to introduce herself, Rosaline stayed put and kept her words to herself. The third girl gave the closed door a disapproving look before coming towards her, throwing her leg forward and hitting the ground again with her walking stick. A few steps later, she knelt down on her single knee and set her cane on the ground beside her.
"I can offer you a kiss or a hug. Whichever you want."
"Honestly, I think I could use both right now." Rosaline said, her voice filled with slight tremors.
She put her hand behind her back and pressed her small body against her own chest. "You can call me Ruby."
"And I'm... Rose."
Ruby freed her from her embrace and kissed her on both cheeks before taking a good look at the girl before her. She ran a finger along the delicate features of her face before sliding down her neck to feel her barren shoulders through the thin fabric, securing the right one in the palm of her three fingered hand.
"You'll have to excuse miss Maya over there, from what I've seen she can't bear being overshadowed by newcomers."
"And she is the one casting shadow on us!" said Opal. She had climbed onto a nearby couch and giggled softly at her own joke.
"Yeah well she better get used to her." Ruby said, indicating Rosaline. "I'm feeling like the King is going to adore her. By the way, have you heard? There's this Count in the north that tried to..."
As she talked, Ruby sat down and folded her leg beneath her. She reached over her shoulder to bring her hair over on one side, revealing her crooked arm in the process. While it also had three fingers, none of them were thumbs. She distractedly pinched the silk of her robe near her breast, the lowest point her limb could reach on her body. Noticing Rosaline had been staring at her arm, she slid her right sleeve up to her shoulder to expose it.
"I guess you could say I'm the black sheep here. Even amongst real special people, I'm still kind of a weirdo. This guy is gone alright", she said looking down, feeling the empty spot where her left leg should've been, "But these arms still have their uses." She moved the fingers of her shorter arm as if to demonstrate their range of movement, then reached upwards to toy with a piece of her earring. "When Gertrude's off for the night, I'm usually the one helping out if anyone's in trouble."
Rosaline looked into her hazelnut eyes and managed to control her breathing, slowly taking all of this in. She looked at Opal, now properly slouched on her couch, at the closed door behind which Maya had vanished, then back at Ruby, who she thought was the prettiest. While she retained most of her limbs, they had that truly exotic look the King seemed to be interested in. For the first time since any of the girls had arrived, she noticed how naked they all were. Their tunic left absolutely no doubt concerning any of the girl's bodies. While her own breasts were modest in size, Ruby's were prominent and firm, according to the hug they had earlier, and the see-through clothes clearly defined the hourglass shape of her torso. Rosaline shrugged and rotated her shoulders backwards. She found comforting the feeling of her skin rubbing against the rich fabric.
"Surely you must be the King's favorite. You are gorgeous."
"That depends, really. He likes Maya's company best during ceremonies or prayers since her empty shoulders let out an impression of devotion and powerlessness towards the Gods' actions. Because of her skin, people have mistaken her for a bronze statue on days when she was holding particularly still. Opal's strength in her arm makes her a real feat on some of the obstacle courses built to train the soldiers. She even challenges some of them in arm wrestling challenges during special events. She often wins."
Rosaline arched backwards to relieve the stiffness she had built up during the day. "What about you?"
"Well I'm the only one who can both stand and kiss rich men's jeweled hands by myself, so I'm often off with him on diplomatic meetings or trips. I'm also his default mistress when he becomes bored of his full ones." A wicked smile widened on her face as she ran her hand through her hair. "Personally, I don't really mind it."
Even if they were the same height when sitting, Rosaline felt smaller than Ruby. Her own beauty, considered incomparable back in her village, had become average around the other girls. Her blond hair now seemed the color of ash, their color fading compared to her new friend's fiery locks. Ruby noticed Rose's finite body crumbling on itself and lifted her chin with a finger decorated with an enormous red stone mounted on a golden ring.
"Don't worry." She said to comfort her. "The first day is always the hardest. You'll find your place here and I think you'll manage to quite like it. Now, how about I show you to your room?"
She removed her sandal and stood up in one swift motion. Bending down again, she enticed Rosaline to come closer. Swinging her body from side to side, she progressively closed the gap between them. Ruby bent down again and scooped her up, pressing on her back to secure her in her grasp. Her short arm rose to hold her shoulder, her hand moving to support her rump, and by short but determined hops, they managed to reach the door leading to Rosaline's brand new room.