The New God's Of Avaricia

Sam was a paragon of virtue in the city's eyes, a young man whose good deeds and charitable acts had earned him the title of "The People's Saint." His visage was as handsome as a sunrise, his smile as warm as a summer's embrace, and his heart was said to be as vast as the sea. He was the kind of man whose very existence seemed to challenge the very fabric of the city's moral decay.

Yet, it was this saintly veneer that concealed the darkest of secrets. In the shadows of his father's abode, he nurtured a hunger for the very vices he publicly denounced. His visits to the House of Garnet were as clandestine as the whispers of conspiracy that swirled through the city's underbelly.

Sam's true nature was as twisted as the gnarled branches of the ancient tree that stood sentinel outside the brothel's doors. His desires, once unleashed in the hallowed halls of the Garnet, were not those of a chivalrous knight, but rather a beast that reveled in the corruption of innocence. His eyes gleamed with a lust that was not for the body, but for the soul itself.

In the velvet-curtained chamber where Ava waited, the air was thick with the anticipation of his peculiar tastes. His preferences were whispered about in hushed tones, a secret shared only among the most devoted of Madam Agatha's employees. They knew that Sam sought not the fleeting pleasure of the flesh, but the darker thrill of control and dominance.

The moment Ava laid eyes on him, she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. His handsome features were marred by a hunger that seemed almost otherworldly, a craving that set her instincts on edge. His eyes, a deep shade of blue that mirrored the city's twilight, searched hers as if looking for something hidden beneath the layers of her soul.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she took his hand, leading him to the chamber where she had serviced countless other men. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very air of the House of Garnet was resisting her, trying to keep her from this fate. Yet, she knew that she had no choice. The survival of the house depended on the whims of the powerful, and Sam Bower was as powerful as they came.

The velvet curtains parted like the lips of a lover, revealing a space that was both opulent and suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of exotic incense, its sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter taste in Ava's mouth. She forced a smile, her eyes never leaving his as she began the ritual dance she had performed so many times before. It was a dance that had once brought her pride, but now filled her with a revulsion that was as palpable as the sticky residue of the candles that burned low on their gilded stands.

As Sam's desires unfolded, Ava felt her soul wither a little more with each passing moment. Yet she continued, her movements as precise as the tick of a clock, her voice as sweet as the siren's call that had lured sailors to their doom. She knew that to resist would be to invite his wrath, and with it, the wrath of the city. The coins he offered were as meaningless as the vows of a politician, yet she took them with a grace that belied the turmoil within.

When the night had passed and Sam had taken his leave, Ava collapsed onto the bed, her body bruised and her spirit broken. She hoped with every fiber of her being that she had seen the last of him, that he would tire of his twisted games and find some other poor soul to torment. But the whispers of the streets told another tale. They spoke of a man consumed by his appetites, one who could not be satisfied by the ordinary.

Days turned into weeks, and Sam Bower's visits grew as regular as the ticking of a clock. Only Ava's name ever left his lips when he walked through the House of Garnet's gleaming doors. The other women whispered among themselves, their eyes filled with a mix of envy and pity. Madam Agatha watched the situation unfold with a shrewd gaze, knowing that the patronage of the lord's son could be both a boon and a curse.

Each time Sam's carriage rolled up to the brothel, Ava felt the weight of her duty pressing down upon her, a heavy yoke that she could not cast off. The air grew thick with a tension that was almost tangible, a silent scream trapped in her chest. Yet, she forced herself to endure the torment, knowing that the house's survival depended on her compliance.

In the quiet moments between his visits, she would sit by the dusty window, watching the shadows play across the cobblestone streets, and ponder the strange path her life had taken. The other girls looked at her with a mix of fear and envy, knowing that it was her sacrifice that kept the monster's attentions from straying to them. And so, she became both the savior and the victim of the House of Garnet, a paradox that ate away at her soul.

But the tranquility of her routine was shattered when Sam began to grow possessive. He no longer came with the quiet dignity of a man enjoying a secret vice but instead with the furious jealousy of a lover spurned. He would ask about the men who had visited her before him, his voice tight with anger. He demanded to know their names, their faces, their every touch.

Ava felt the first stirrings of fear as she realized that Sam's mind was unraveling before her eyes. His eyes held a manic glint that spoke of madness, yet she could not resist the power he wielded. His visits grew longer, his desires more extreme. He pushed her to the brink of sanity with his twisted games, yet she complied, fearful of the repercussions should she refuse.

In the quiet moments before the storm of his passions, she would whisper to herself, "This is for the house. This is for the other girls." It was the only mantra that kept her going, the only beacon of hope in the endless night of her existence. She knew that without her, the House of Garnet would crumble, and the other inhabitants would be cast into the merciless streets of the city. Madam Agatha had made it clear that their survival was contingent upon keeping their most esteemed patron satisfied.

The whispers grew to a crescendo as word spread that the Whore of Sovereign had tamed the city's prodigal son. The men who sought her out now did so with a mix of fascination and trepidation, wondering what secrets she held that could captivate such a man. Yet, Ava felt a strange sense of contentment, a peace that grew from the knowledge that she had found a way to carve out a place in the world that had once seemed so determined to crush her.

But the gods of fate are fickle creatures, and their gifts come with a price. One evening, as the shadows grew long and the candles flickered with the last gasps of their lives, Sam Bower's gaze fell upon a new prize.

Her name was Elara, a girl as delicate as a sparrow, with eyes that shone like stars in the night sky and hair as dark as the deepest corners of the city's soul. She was but thirteen, a blossom not yet opened to the harsh sun of reality, but Ava knew that the hunger in Sam's gaze was not for a woman who had seen the darkest of days. It was for innocence unblemished, a prize riper for the plucking than the jaded fruit that was Ava herself.

The sight of Elara sent a jolt through Ava's veins, a fierce protectiveness that was as unexpected as it was primal. She knew the path that lay before the girl, the same path her mother had walked, the same path she had been forced to tread. And in that moment, a spark of rebellion ignited in the depths of her soul.

She had to do something.

-To Be Continued-