Her heart pounds in her chest. She tries to slow her breathing, but her nearly bare chest rises and falls quickly, in mute pants. She keeps trying to meet her mother’s gaze as the older woman paints her face, each mark on her skin holding a special meaning. There are tears in her mother’s eyes, ones that don’t spill. The matriarch knows better. This is how it must be. Still, Selene sighs and her shoulders sag under the weight of her future. Instantly, her mother chides her. Stand up straight. Her commands are sharp. You are doing our people a great honor. Selene doesn’t need reminding. You are going to save us. ”Yes mama.” She murmurs in her native tongue. The rest of the preparation goes in silence. Her make up is finished. Her long, flowing skirt hangs low around her hips, all bright colors that signify her place in the tribe. A princess. The collar the adorns her neck is customary of those that leave the tribe, those that are sold for the greater good. It’s unheard of to adorn the neck of a princess. But these are desperate times. Or so her father says.
Beads are finely woven together and lay flat across her chest. Tassels hang free, barely covering her breasts when she stands still. Her dark hair is sectioned off and some of it intricately braided, the same yarns and beads interwoven. Other pieces hang loose and straight over her shoulders and down her back. The final touch is her head piece, one thats appropriate of her station.
It’s impossible to conquer her nerves. To swallow her pride as she steps before the entire tribe, people she has known her entire life - while half nude. She swallows thickly as she’s led from the tent. Outside, the sun is warm on her tanned skin and the air is hot. Selene does her best as she’s led through the crowd like prized cattle, ready for auction. With her head held high, she fixes her hazel eyes on something unseen straight ahead. Her pace is measured as she walks the aisle way of human bodies, all familiar faces that she’ll never see again. Tears burn behind her eyes.
She hasn’t even see the man she’s being sold to. Nor does she have an idea of what people look like outside her tribe. Here, at home, the men her age are tall, strong, fit - they have to be. The older men are rounder, slower, sloppier. And the elders? Well they are so far past their prime, it’s not even a thought. But this stranger? This outsider? She is walking into this utterly blind.
Stopping outside her father’s tent, she pauses and looks to her mother. She is long past pleading, she had already tried that and was struck down. But her mothers expression softens when she sees her daughters lower lip tremble. You can do this. Her voice is soft, soothing. You will do what your people need. She assured her. You are a princess, you are destined for great things. And with that, she ushered her daughter inside, letting the door swing quietly shut behind her.
Inside, the air is cool and thick with smoke. Her eyes drop to the floor and she stands completely still - waiting for her father’s order. It takes every ounce of self control she possesses to keep her eyes down, to keep those hazel pools from lifting to look her future in the face.