One month. Aria lay in a second-floor private room, clutching the grimy sheets. Every time the oil lamp flickered, the shadows on the wall warped. Sweat clung to her skin, along with the stale, sour smell the customers left behind. From the next room, the same unending moans of feigned pleasure leaked through, just like every other day. (*I don't even know what number that was anymore.*) Japanese whispered in the depths of her mind. But there was no anger left in it now, not like before. Only a dry, hollow echo. Thirty minutes ago, the second customer had left. A mercenary. He'd thrust in silence, tossed down his coins, and gone. Before him, a merchant. He'd toyed with Aria's chest with his fat fingers and laughed, calling her flat-chested. That was when the dull pain had shot through her lower abdomen. At first, she'd thought it was just the usual exhaustion. After a month of servicing men every single night, her body had long since started screaming. Sleepless nights. Mornings when she couldn't eat. Her limbs heavy as lead, the dark circles under her eyes stained a bruised blue-black. But this time was different. A searing pain surged up from deep within her belly. As if her organs were being grabbed and twisted. Without thinking, Aria curled up on the bed, clutching her knees. A cold, greasy sweat beaded on her back. (*What is— this—*) The pain cut her Japanese off mid-thought. Just then, a customer opened the door. The third one tonight. Still young, a laborer just back from the mines. Skin stained with soot. Reeking of alcohol. Wordlessly, he grabbed Aria's arm and shoved her down onto the bed. "[whispers]...Please, wait." A hoarse voice scraped its way out of her throat. But the man didn't listen. He yanked her dress up, roughly pulled down her underwear. Gripping Aria's slender hips, he thrust inside all at once, without any foreplay. It hurt. But more than that, the searing heat in her lower abdomen burned her consciousness away. With every movement of the man's hips, she could hear something inside her breaking. A dull, heavy sound. (*Stop.*) She couldn't even tell anymore if the voice in her head was speaking Japanese or the language of this world. The man slammed his hips against her. The bed creaked. The oil lamp on the wall flickered. And then— A violent fever ripped through Aria's entire body. In an instant, as if her temperature had exploded. Her vision warped, a ringing filled her ears. Nausea, and an agonizing pain from the very pit of her stomach. And then. She felt a lukewarm liquid spreading from between her legs onto the sheets. The man stopped moving. "[angry]Hey, that's blood!" He scrambled off Aria's body and stared down at his own groin. Red. The color of blood, mixed with semen. The stain spreading across the sheets glistened a murky black under the oil lamp's light. Aria looked at her own hands. Her fingertips were trembling. Bloody urine. The moment she recognized it, the strength drained from her knees. She collapsed onto the floor. The cold stone pressed against her fever-flushed cheek. Her whole body began to tremble violently. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She was burning up, yet freezing. Her stomach ached. She couldn't breathe. (*I can't—*) ...do this anymore. Japanese words bubbled up and vanished like foam. No emotional color clung to them anymore. Even as her body broke down, her anger and fear had long since dried up. Only the bare fact remained. I am broken. The man frantically straightened his clothes and bolted out into the hallway. "Hey, someone! The woman in here collapsed!" In the distance, the sound of heavy, thudding footsteps. Her cheek still pressed against the cold stone floor, Aria stared at the stains on the ceiling. One. Two. Three. The usual stains. The ones she'd desperately counted every single night. (*Number Seventeen is broken.*) In her mind, she confirmed her status as a piece of merchandise. The footsteps drew closer. —Curtis stood in the doorway. The gaunt manager glanced down at Aria collapsed on the floor. His nervous, pinched features showed no emotion whatsoever. In his hand was that ledger of his. First, he turned to the mine worker making a fuss in the hallway. "[cold]Apologies for the disturbance. There will be no charge this time. On your next visit, we shall offer a discount of five copper coins." A flat, matter-of-fact tone. Calculated words meant to placate an angry customer. "Like hell I'm ever coming back!" The laborer spat and stomped off downstairs. Silence returned. Curtis opened his ledger, and as he ran his quill across the page, he spoke to Aria. "[cold]Inventory Number Seventeen. Confirmed hematuria and fever. Due to this, operations are suspended for three days." Inventory. Suspension of operations. Words not meant for human beings. But Aria felt nothing anymore. Only the cold of the stone floor was real. "[cold]Medicine and a physician will be arranged. The cost is eight silver coins. The full amount will be deducted from your future wages. Until the debt is repaid, customers will be routed to other inventory. You will be treated as damaged goods awaiting repair." Awaiting repair. Damaged goods. Still writing something in his ledger, Curtis walked away down the hall. He never once looked Aria in the eye. Not a single word of concern for the sick. His tone was no different than when arranging repairs for a broken tool. The servants carried Aria up to the prostitutes' living quarters on the third floor. She was roughly laid down on a bed in the corner of a six-person room. No one else was there. They were all downstairs, servicing customers. She stared up at the ceiling. There were stains here, too. (*I am— a broken product.*) The Japanese echoed in her mind. No emotion accompanied it anymore. Even despair was a thing of the past. Only a flat, simple acknowledgment of the fact remained. —Late at night. Aria drifted in and out of consciousness, burning with fever. Her awareness floated on the boundary between reality and dreams, like a leaf adrift on the water's surface. The sheets were soaked with sweat, her whole body wracked by alternating waves of searing heat and violent chills. She heard the door open. Footsteps. One person. A man. (*No. It's not Curtis.*) Aria thought vaguely. A heavier, rougher gait. The smell of alcohol. It was one of the regulars—the one who'd looked at Aria's face in the hall that afternoon and said, "Scrawny thing, but she'll do." The man approached the bed without a word. He grabbed Aria's thin wrist and roughly flipped her onto her back. In her fevered state, she had no strength to resist. The magic stone on her collar flickered with a faint, pale blue light. She stared at the stains on the ceiling. (*Again.*) Again. The man carelessly yanked up Aria's dress and tore off her sweat-soaked underwear. He pinned down her fever-racked body. She knew what was happening. But her emotions wouldn't stir. The man pushed his hips forward. She no longer even knew if it hurt. There was only a distant sensation of something inside her body creaking wetly, squelching. The man kept thrusting in silence. His ragged breath fell on the nape of Aria's neck. The smell of sweat and alcohol. Eventually, he let out a low groan and ejaculated inside her. Aria felt the warm semen spreading through her feverish body as if it were happening to someone else. When he was done, the man shoved Aria's body carelessly to the edge of the bed and stood up. He pulled up his pants and left the room. The sound of the door closing. Aria was left there, naked. Semen dripped from between her legs onto the sheets. Still staring at the ceiling, Aria couldn't move. The sensation of something slowly trickling down her thigh. Even that no longer felt like it belonged to her. (*What I'm feeling right now— is it...*) Pain? Or numbness? She couldn't tell the difference. In her fever-addled mind, not a single Japanese word surfaced. She didn't even have the energy left to consider what that meant. —How much time passed? The door opened again. This time, the footsteps were quieter. Long, curled hair of dark crimson swayed in the lamplight. Pale violet eyes, tinged with gray, looked down at Aria on the bed. Lisetta. Without a word, she straightened Aria's disheveled bedding. Her movements were practiced. She wiped down Aria's naked body, pulled the blanket over her, and opened the cap of a small vial she held in her hand. "[cold]Drink." Lisetta's voice was its usual brusque tone. Aria asked in a hoarse whisper. "[whispers]...Why?" Why are you here? Why the medicine? Lisetta didn't answer. She forced Aria's mouth open and poured the liquid from the vial down her throat. Bitter. The smell of medicinal herbs spread deep in her throat. It was a healing potion, secretly taken from the brothel's medicine cabinet. If Curtis found out, it would mean the underground dungeon without a doubt. Lisetta placed a damp cloth on Aria's forehead and sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. "[whispers]...Why did you come?" Aria asked again, her voice still hoarse. Lisetta stared out the window and said nothing. Silence. Racked by the high fever, Aria felt her consciousness fading away. —She had a dream. A university campus in Japan. A row of ginkgo trees in autumn. Yellow leaves, translucent in the sunlight. Figures sat on the grass. Friends. People from her club. Faces from the seat next to hers in lectures. Everyone was laughing. Their mouths were open, talking about something. But. She couldn't recognize any of their faces. Only their outlines were there. But their eyes, noses, mouths—all blurred, unrecognizable. She could hear their voices, but couldn't understand the words. Who they were, what relationship they had with her—she couldn't remember a single thing. (*No. I know them. I should know all of them.*) In the dream, Aria desperately tried to call out their names. But no voice came out. No Japanese came out. One by one, the figures on the grass vanished. The last one remaining turned to face Aria. (*Who— are you?*) That face was her own. The Aria she used to be. Her smiling self, from back when she was a university student in Japan. Slowly, it waved its hand. (*Don't go.*) But no voice came. Her former self turned its back and disappeared. Aria wept without making a sound. In the dream, tears spilled down her cheeks in streams. She finally understood, now, what she had lost. The memories that should have been vivid could no longer hold their shape. That was the last moment she ever cried with real emotion. —Near dawn. Aria's fever began to break. Her consciousness slowly surfaced. Her head was still foggy, but the trembling in her body had subsided. The cloth on her forehead had grown lukewarm. Lisetta rose from her chair. Looking out the window at the sky just beginning to lighten, she spoke for the first time. "[cold]Five years ago, I was sold to pay off a debt." Aria listened to her voice, eyes open on the bed. "[cold]Since coming to the Crimson Boudoir, I've watched countless girls break. Some had their spirits crushed, turned into empty shells. Others took their own lives. Cleaning that up was part of my job, too." Lisetta didn't turn around. "[cold]I thought you'd end up the same way. But I was wrong." Aria silently watched Lisetta's back. "[cold]You seem like you're about to break, but you don't. That makes it all the more painful to watch." Lisetta's voice trembled, just a little. "[cold]So I'll say it. Don't hold onto hope." She turned around. Her pale violet eyes, tinged with gray, looked straight at Aria. "[cold]Hope will kill you." It wasn't a rejection. It was a message delivered as the only way to survive. For the first time, Aria saw it in Lisetta's eyes—a faint glimmer of pain. She, too, had survived this long by throwing away hope. Aria qui