That was the last thing she heard her mother say before being practically sold to a Thayan as a pleasure object. From then on, Jamariee was constantly persued to be bedded by the lascivious aristocrat and most nights she found herself shoving chubby fingers away from her bodice and running for her life. Of course the Thayan would have none of that for long and one night he crept into her room and sought to force himself on his unwilling slave.

In that moment the rejection and hate that had built up in Jamariee since being abandoned balled up her hand and shot it out like a dagger. She screamed; partly from being scared but mainly from the exhileration of hurt turning to anger. She saw the Thayan rolling on the floor clutching his bloody, broken nose. His voice was weak and fearful as he begged her to leave him be. How many nights had she felt alone and scared? How many times did she feel helpless and weak? The rush of power was too much. She pounced on the fat Thayan and pummeled him with both hands and feet trying her best not to smile too widely.

When the Thayan had eventually lapsed into incontinence, Jamariee finally came to herself. She had to leave quickly, now. She would grab the clothing and money and jewlery she had secreted away for a long planned escape. She would tell the guards at the gate their master was being attacked. She would smear his blood on her and do the best acting job she'd ever done and they would believe her. But most of all, she would find someone to train her, pay them even if she had to. She found out that night if you hit someone, they stayed hit. Magic be damned.