I never anticipated something like this, not when I was captured, not when I was brought here, not even when he asked for me last night. I suppose that, taken out of context, my story will make little sense, so I should begin at the beginning, when I was Arya, not a slave.

I lived in the desert then, sweeping dunes and endless sand marked my homeland, with tents and camels the ever-mobile hub of our civilization. I remember playing, laughing, being trained to fight with short, curved blades. My chores were few, my days were happy. When the raiders came, I was thirteen, and one of the first they seized. They found my dark hair and skin appealing.

When I was unbound, I was beaten harshly. I don’t remember much of the journey after they destroyed my camp. Though I do remember that three other girls were taken, and I never saw them again. They did not tell me where they were taking me, and when I asked, I was whipped.