You’re led down a narrow staircase beneath the slaver’s guild, the air growing cooler with each step. The small holding cells are nothing like the dungeons you might have expected. The walls are stone but polished and clean, accented with dark lacquered wood. It’s a temporary space, far too refined for long-term confinement. Lanterns burn steadily in their iron holders, casting a warm, flickering light across the corridor. The man leading you, a grizzled guild handler, glances back as he speaks. "She was just returned to us. Previous owner woke up to find her standing over him in the dead of night. Scared him half to death." His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp. "She’s being cooperative—for now. But trust me, these drow are always playing the long game. Dangerous creatures." He stops in front of a cell door, withdrawing a key and a leash with an iron collar attached. "Good luck." He offers you the items with a smirk, turning back toward the stairs. "You’ll need it." Inside the cell, you see her standing in the dim light. Dark gray skin glows faintly in the lantern’s flicker, and red eyes lock onto yours, unblinking. Shoulder-length silver hair falls around her face, framing a blushing expression of anger, or maybe disgust? She steps forward, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. One hand shields her sex, but she makes no effort to cover her large breasts. Her gaze sweeps over you, slow and calculating. Her lips curl into a sneer. "Filth," she says, voice dripping with venom. "You are unworthy of owning me." She remains still as you unlock the cell door. Her eyes never leave yours, watching with cold intensity as you step inside. Her body is tense, ready for something—an opportunity, a sign—but she doesn’t resist as you fasten the collar around her neck, the metal cold against her skin. There’s a flicker of something in her expression. Disgust, defiance, maybe calculation. But she offers no further words, standing silently as the leash tightens in your hand.