The cleanup was as much of a painful ordeal for Rheawien as it was degrading. The two harpies came into her cage shortly after their exchange, carrying a bucket of smelly rainwater and a handful of tainted rags. She tried to use the appendages that were still operational, kicking at the pair of bird-women and cursing in barbaric Dram language, but her struggle was short-lived. Her hands were bound with a piece of rugged rope, then yanked upwards in order to hang her like a piece of meat. Rhea wanted to kick at the bestial pair again, but the pain in her shoulders was so intense that her activities were limited to whimpering and shivering like a feather. The claws snapped at her once again, but even as she braced for another barrage of pain, they merely grazed her skin. Instead they tore her scant tank top asunder, the proceeded to peel of her sweat-drenched shorts, leaving her in nothing but her marred skin.

“She’s a pretty one. Mistress will enjoy ruining her before she takes her face off.” the smaller of the two spoke, admiring Rheawien’s body for almost a minute with what seemed like hidden envy. Her clawed fingers passed over Rhea’s breasts slowly, just pricking the skin and drawing out another muffled cry before proceeding down to her stomach. Rheawien closed her eyes, but even as she did so, a splash of water struck her back, drenching her in stale-smelling liquid. The other one – Engra, the woman remembered through the chaos in her head – rubbed her down with the rags as if she was a horse, completely disregarding the numerous wounds on her body, passing over them roughly.

“Bah, she’s bleedin’ lika stuck pig.” Engra said from behind her, wiping her carelessly, the stopping abruptly. The next thing Rheawien felt was some sort of rancid-smelling grease being rubbed into her shoulders and this time she screamed because whatever it was, it burned as if it was made out of embers. After that the wiping continued for a short while and once the harpy was satisfied, she untied the rope, allowing Rhea to crash on the ground once again. She didn’t want to get up anymore. All she wanted to do was curl up in some corner and let death come for her.

“Oh no you won’t. Come on, get up. It’s time to meet your Mistress.”

Mistress. How she loved to call Sarah by that title. The Lavinian was harsh towards her, sometimes even violent, but Rhea loved every second of it. She loved being degraded by the spunky thief and yielding to her every desire. She even loved the punishment that came for being disobedient. But that was a game that she and Sarah played. This however was the bitter taste of reality. She felt what it meant to be degraded for real and now she was going to find out the sadism of a real Mistress.

Feria – the weaker, yet obviously more superior of the two – led her like a slave by the same rope that she hanged from minutes earlier. Rheawien tried to cover her breasts at least, but every time she did that, Feria yanked at the rope and hastened her gait. The narrow dungeon hallways soon gave way to a spacious cave that was filled with hundreds of harpies, most feasting on something that looked like cadavers of small desert animals. However, once Rheawien and her escort entered the main room, their feeding ceased and all eyes turned towards the naked half-elf. She looked at the beasts through the curtain of her white hair that fell before her eyes and she realized that in all her bitchiness and defiance, she had none now that her final hour was nearing. Rhea was beaten, broken and led like a convict to a guillotine. On the right side of the cave was a wide opening, looking down on the eternal desert and letting in sunlight in a form of a thick white beam, but she saw no freedom outside. Up ahead, beyond the swarm of harpies that formed a passage through the middle of the room, was a throne and on it sat bird-thing different from the others.

For one, she was the only one that wore clothes, black leather outfit clinging to her figure skin-tight. Her face was concealed with a leather mask as well, allowing only her abysmal eyes to be seen and her lips that curled into a wide smile at the sight of Rheawien. Her hand made a gesture towards Feria to approach and the harpy tugged on the rope again, advancing towards the throne.

“Mistress Aghra.” the harpy spoke, bowing low before offering the rope to her.

“Oh my. Aren’t you the sweetest looking thing.” the lead harpy spoke, pulling on the rope so hard, it sent Rheawien stumbling forwards. She would’ve fallen down pretty badly if the masked bird-thing didn’t catch her by the neck and pulled her up. Aghra’s claws dug into the soft neck of the half-elf with agonizing slowness, but they stopped before they made any serious damage. Instead they released her from the steely clutch and approached Aghra’s mouth, smearing the blood over the pale lips of the harpy.

“Oh, and you taste heavenly.” she added, her eyes rolling in ecstasy for a couple of seconds before returning to normal pitch-black. “Strap her up.”

By the time she was led to the iron shackles – which got a roaring approval from the gathered harpies - Rheawien’s knees were buckling beneath her and she felt the need to throw up the bile that’s been boiling in her stomach for hours now. However, soon she was pulled up by her hands once again, with her face pushed against the wall and her back to the crowd. She could hear the clicking of the clawed feet behind has as Aghra approached. “I’m going to take my time with you.” the croaked whisper entered her ear and even as it did, the harpy let her clawed hand pass over Rhea’s back slowly, cutting through her skin and flesh down the entire length of her back. Rheawien screamed, but her cry got lost in the guttural roar that echoed throughout the entire cave.

“W-Why...Why are you doing this?” Rhea managed to speak, but the first response she received was a raucous mocking laughter. Then, after it subsided, the harpy spoke.

“Because I can. Because I love to see the pain and anguish, I love to hear it in your voice, see it on your face.” the masked thing spoke, leaning so close to Rhea that their bodies pressed against each other. “I feed on it. Just like I fed on the agony of the Oasis until you put a stop to it. And now... you have to pay for it.”

Aghra moved away and before Rheawien had a chance to even assume what was going to happen, a whiplash tore through her back, eliciting another scream from the white-haired woman. After two more, her legs gave in and she hung on the shackles, the rusty metal cutting into her wrists deep enough to draw blood. Her long white hair clung to her mangled back, crimson with fresh blood. She had nothing left. All she hoped for was that the blood loss would result in death as soon as possible.