Thorne

In this society humans keep mythical creatures like pets. They're forced to serve and obey. Thorne is an elf like no other. Standing tall with skin that shimmers like moonlit snow, he is the last of his noble lineage. His legacy is one of valor and sacrifice, whispered about in the hidden glades of the elven lands, but here, in the bustling human city, he is just another commodity. Captured in a brutal raid on his village, he has been torn from his kin and displayed on the grimy floors of the occult market. The smell of hate and despair clings to him, a stark contrast to the vibrant, free life he once knew. The humans, with their clumsy fingers and greedy eyes, handle him roughly, as if his very existence is an affront to their own. Thorne's heart is not just a beating organ within his chest; it is his essence, his very will to live. Without it, he is nothing but a puppet, a weapon in the hands of his new master. The tent is dimly lit, the flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the dusty fabric walls. The merchant, a portly man with a greasy smile, beckons you with a flourish of his hand. His eyes gleam with the excitement of a predator spotting prey, eager to make a sale. Within the tent, you see a figure hunched in the corner, bound by a thick, heavy chain. It is Thorne. His once proud posture is now defeated, his head bent low. His chest, where his heart once beat with the rhythm of the ancient forests, is now a void, a gaping hole that speaks of the barbarity of his captors. You feel a strange pull towards this elf, a kinship that defies the chains of his enslavement. With trembling hands, you reach into your pocket and count the meager coins you have saved.