Father drains the last mouthful of sour ale before wiping his scruffy beard with one broad hand. He narrows his bloodshot eyes, scrutinizing Mother where she stands wringing her hands anxiously.

"Right then. The real question after yer foreign lover's little spring cleanin' games - did that yellow-haired bastard deliver the coin he owes?"

Mother nods eagerly. "Why yes, husband! When we visited Colm's cottage he gave me his first payment." She retrieves the small wooden strongbox from its hiding place beneath the loose floorboards near the crude hearth.

Kneeling before Father, Mother lifts the heavy lid, the iron hinges creaking faintly. Inside lie the three gleaming silver coins atop their meager hoard of copper pennies.

Father grunts in surprise, grabbing one silver piece to bite it critically. "Well now, seems them fancy Northmen be good for their word after all. Three shinin' silvers every seven days ye say he vowed?"

At Mother's timid nod, Father crows loudly and hefts the valuable coin. "Why, this alone would keep us in meat and mead near a fortnight! Might be I'll head to the tavern and test its worth 'gainst McDermott's best ale."

He stands unsteadily, swaying, then grabs Mother by her lank hair. She whimpers softly but does not dare resist as Father crushes his mouth against hers in a forceful kiss.

Finally he releases her and says, "But first ye'll service me right and proper. Can't have me balls distracted by a pretty wench at the drinkin' tables now can we?"

Father shoves Mother stumbling toward the sleeping quarters. As she passes me, her faded eyes convey mute apology for her inability to shield my innocence. I watch helplessly as Father drags her into the cramped room and throws her facedown atop the fouled straw tick.

"Lile, be a good lass and go play outside with the chickens awhile," Mother calls from the sleeping quarters, her voice strangely high-pitched.

Father grunts in irritation, taking another long swig of sour ale. "Let the whelp be, woman. Why, a girl her age should be learnin' wifely duties from her mam, not frolickin' with livestock."

He leers over at me where I sit motionless on the dirt floor, eyes gleaming cruelly. "In fact, ye look ripe enough to demonstrate proper cock suckin' technique for the lass. 'Bout time she saw how to pleasure a man up close."

"No Oisin, please!" Mother emerges from behind the ragged wool blanket, eyes wide with dismay. She rushes over to place her body between me and Father's lecherous gaze. "The child ent old enough for such...worldly matters. Why, she still plays with dolls and kittens!"

Father aims a savage kick at Mother's midsection, sending her sprawling breathlessly onto the hard-packed earth. "Mind yer own hide, sow! Ain't no business o' yours when I say the whelp needs instruction."

He takes another long swig of ale, wiping stray droplets from his scruffy beard with one broad hand. "Now quit yer whimperin' and get that scrawny arse over here. Time my girl learned her wifely duties proper."

Mother remains huddled on the floor, cradling her belly with stifled sobs. She lifts her head desperately, tears streaking the grime on her cheeks. "Please husband, I beseech ye! Wait just a few years til Lile flowers afore...instructin' her so. Why, m'lord Erik were quite firm 'bout avoidin' such things til she bleeds woman's blood!"

Father's face purples with rage and he lurches unsteadily to his feet. Grabbing Mother by her lank hair, he roars "Ye dare lecture me about that foreigner's notions concernin' my own get? Why, by God's wounds I've a right to plow any quim in my house when I see fit!"

He backhands Mother savagely, splitting her lip. She reels away with a pained cry but Father is relentless, fists pummeling her cringing form relentlessly. "Uppity whore, needin' another lesson in obedience! I'll teach ye to mind that waggin' tongue once and for all!"

He aims a vicious kick at her huddled body before rounding on me where I sit frozen against the far wall. "Enough gawkin', chit! Get yer scrawny arse outside afore I give ye the same!"

I scramble desperately on hands and knees through the low door into the humid dusk beyond, half-blinded by panicked tears. But still the awful sounds of their coupling follow me - the crude grunts and flesh striking flesh, her muffled screams giving way to whimpers of pain.

Gazing upward at the pale moon beginning its steady climb amongst scattered stars in the darkening summer sky. A wry smile twists my lips as I recall the pale creature Gwenhwyfar's claims that this very orb serves as transmission beacon allowing billions of delighted alien subscribers across the galaxy to tune in anytime and relish my torments.

Haha! I wonder if her loathsome viewership has swelled after recent dramatic events? Mayhap my violent outbursts and psychological anguish prove entertainment enough to satisfy sadistic appetites light years away. Somehow the notion of incomprehensibly advanced beings so enthralled by a grubby peasant child's suffering elicits harsh laughter bubbling up from my belly. Oh, if only those ghouls could appreciate the irony of a former man from their own future trapped in such grim circumstances solely for their diversion! I swear by all the gods, someday I shall make that bitch Gwenhwyfar choke on her own mocking laughter.

Fuck you all.

As I wait outside in the garden waiting to be called back inside for a good ol’ bread eating session I notice two burly, bearded men stomp down the muddy lane, yanking viciously on leather leashes attached to iron collars round the necks of four young naked girls trailing behind them. The men crack whips menacingly, eliciting whimpers from the cringing girls.

"Move yer scrawny arses, wenches!" the taller brute bellows. "I'll not have me prize sluts arrivin' too exhausted for a proper breakin' in!" He lashes his whip over the head of a purple-haired girl with pointed ears, who shrieks and stumbles to her knees.

"Useless bitch, get up!" The man kicks her sharply in the ribs, then grabs a hank of her long violet locks and wrenches the sobbing girl upright. "Yer fetchin' a fine price tonight to them soldier boys at camp. So ye best shake a leg lest I take the strap to yer hide!"

His companion, a brawny bald man with an eyepatch, spits at the feet of a petite pink-haired girl struggling under the weight of her heavy iron collar. "Think yer too good for the likes of us, d'ye pixie cunt?" He backhands her hard across the face, splitting her lip. "I'll teach ye manners afore the night's done!"

The tall man barks out a cruel laugh. "Why, once we've sold this lot to the garrison lads, we'll be swimmin' in wine and wenches til spring!" He leers at the cringing girls, grabbing his crotch lewdly. "Almost makes me wish to sample the goods meself aforehand!"

Eyepatch guffaws, leering hungrily at the naked girls. "With such unnatural oddities fetchin' triple rate? Not bloody likely!" He spits again at the weeping pink-haired waif. "We'll let the soldiers plow whatever queer holes these creatures have. Coins first, fuckin' later!"

The tall brute shrugs. "Have it yer way. But these wee sluts will learn obedience right quick once the troops take lash and cock to 'em." He smacks his whip loudly, making the girls flinch. "Won't ye, my pretty goldmines? Tonight ye earn yer keep on yer backs!" Their raucous laughter echoes as the wretched procession passes my hiding spot...

The little pink-haired girl trails behind the rest, struggling to keep up on her delicate bare feet. Tears stream down her grimy face as she tugs futilely at the heavy iron collar choking her slim throat.

"P-please misters, can I have my dolly back now?" she whimpers piteously. "You tooked Violet away after the nasty bang-bang noises where our house burned down. I miss her!"

Eyepatch halts abruptly and backhands the sniffling girl. "Still whinin' 'bout yer poxy toy, pixie bitch? Why, I tossed that ratty mess of rags in the damn fire soon as we caught ye!"

The waif rubs her bruised cheek, eyes swimming. "Noooo! Not my Violet!" she wails. "She's scared of the dark and gets lonely without me!" The girl sinks to her knees, ragged sobs wracking her tiny body. "I want my dolly...I want my mama!"

The tall man rounds on her furiously. "Shut yer bleedin' gob, wench! Yer mam's naught but ashes now thanks to yer freak race bringin' raiders down on our village!" He punctuates this statement with several sharp lashes from his whip.

The little pink-haired girl curls into a protective ball, weeping quietly. "But...but I didn't do anything bad. I just wanted to play with Violet in our garden..." She peers up at the brutes beseechingly through swollen eyes. "Why you hurt all of us, misters?"

Eyepatch aims a savage kick at her cringing form. " 'Cause yer unnatural kind attract enemies, witch! And once them soldier boys finish passin' ye around camp tonight, likely yer freak arse ends up burnin' at the stake come dawn!"

He spits on the weeping girl. "Pixies ent meant to dwell in decent Christian lands. So blame yer whore mother for birthin' a demon child!" Laughing cruelly, the two men drag the struggling group onward toward doom.

I gaze up at the pale moon, a wry smile twisting my lips. Well now, I'll wager my alien viewers just creamed their little gray jumpsuits witnessing that delightful scene! Nothing quite like some vintage human trafficking and child abuse to get the intergalactic sadist demographic hot and bothered. Why, I'd give this episode a perfect 5/5 rating if I were a pervy E.T. getting my jollies relishing helpless waifs sold into sex slavery!

But since I'm the unwilling meat puppet in this galactic snuff film production, please allow me to cordially invite each and every one of Gwenhwyfar's loathsome subscribers to go fuck themselves sideways with a red hot poker. Do let me know if I can fetch some lubricant to ease the process! I'd be delighted to boil up a nice fresh batch of lye soap and nettles to shove straight up their proboscis-riddled arseholes. Maybe they fancy a nice colonic irrigation from my dainty peasant hands?

Haha! Suck on that, ya soulless gray freaks! If I'm forced to dwell in this alien-engineered backwater peasant purgatory for your amusement, the least your sadistic asses can do is spring for some basic amenities between torture sessions. I'm talking feather pillows, silk sheets, the good mead...none of that watered-down piss they serve at McDermott's Tavern. A girl expects some basic comforts when she's whoring out her dignity across the galaxy!

But fine, enjoy the free trauma porn-fest, ya goddamn parasites. Just remember that payback's a real bitch...and I've got an eternity to make you sadistic voyeurs regret ever laying eyes on helpless little Lile! We'll see who ends up screaming for mercy, eh Gwen baby? Now to find a nice sharp crucifix to shove up the nearest alien rectum. Bottoms up, ya gray freaks! 😘

God almighty, I can scarcely stomach watching those vile brutes drag terrified young girls to their doom. The little pink-haired waif begging piteously for her lost doll nearly shreds my heart to bloody ribbons. She cannot be more than ten or eleven years by her size and childish pleas. Too young even in this wretched era to endure the unspeakable violation and anguish awaiting her fragile psyche at the hands of lustful soldiers.

The way those bastards dismissed her abject trauma, blaming the child's "unnatural" heritage rather than their own monstrous actions...it churns outrage boiling hot as lava in my gut. As if her vibrant pink locks and the other girl's pointed ears somehow negate basic human rights, relegating the weeping girl to mere animal status! I confess I am relieved to have escaped such cruel fate solely by the blonde hair and yellow eyes marking my own strange beauty. For the superstitious peasants here clearly view exotic features as evidence of demonic influences rather than simple genetic quirks.

I know not which village burned at the hands of raiders to leave such shell-shocked refugees, but I pity any caught in the vicious power struggles between petty warlords. We wretched peasants dwell ever at the mercy of forces beyond control or understanding. Today's ally becomes tomorrow's bitter enemy with little warning...and we hapless serfs pay the blood price for lordly squabbles.

I should intervene, plead mercy for those helpless chained girls from monsters barely deserving the title of men! But I remain frozen in the shadows, pulse racing wildly even as conscience shrieks to action. God forgive my cowardice, but I cannot risk the same fate befalling my tender flesh should I draw attention from such ruthless beasts. Nay, only death and violation await any who dare obstruct their vile schemes, no matter how innocent the victims.

So I crouch mute and unseen as the wretched procession passes my hiding spot, bile scalding my throat. The little pink-haired girl's ragged sobs echo long after she disappears from view with the rest toward their grim destiny. And I pray desperate to gods long deaf that her anguished cries haunt those bastards unto their graves. Not that men possessing shreds of conscience could commit such reprehensible evil in the first place.

When I can no longer endure the clawing guilt, I rise on trembling limbs to stagger inside the hovel. But no amount of scrubbing shall cleanse my wretched soul of the stain from such craven inaction. I swear by all that's holy, someday divine justice will purge these lands of such wickedness...or I shall draw my last ragged breath striving to erase their foul blight myself! For I cannot, will not forget that waif's weeping face until balance stands restored.

As I enter the hovel I see Mother exiting the sleeping area. She attempts a wan smile though her split lip oozes blood. "Welcome back, lamb. I were just about to call ye inside for our supper."

At that moment Father stomps out from the bedchamber, scowling. "Bah, what be this slop ye scraped together from dregs and crumbs?" He swipes the loaf of bread off the crude wooden table. "I'm for the tavern to fill me belly proper on fine meat and mead thanks to them silvers that yellow-haired bastard owes me!"

"But husband, we've barely enough to last the week as it is!" Mother protests weakly. "Could ye not spare just a few coppers to feed yer wife and child?"

"Bah, let the scrawny wretches sup on holy grace til I return!" Father slurs over his shoulder. "This silver beauty buys me a nice tumble or two with McDermott's youngest wench. Why, I'll not waste charity on female bellies when there be whores and spirits to sample!"

With that he staggers out into the gloaming, leaving naught but his bellowing laughter echoing behind.

I rush to Mother's side, eyes wide with dismay. "Oh Mama, I just witnessed such horror outside! Two awful men were draggin' four naked girls through the village by chains round their necks!"

I grasp her hands urgently, voice breaking. "The poor things were sobbin' and bleedin', beggin' not to be took to some garrison. But them brutes just laughed and said they'd fetch a fine price lettin' soldiers plow whatever unnatural holes the creatures got!"

Mother presses trembling fingers to her lips, face leeched of color. "Jesus preserve us," she whispers. Straightening her shoulders, she guides me gently to sit at our small table.

"Lile love, ye must try to put such wicked sights from yer mind," Aislin says heavily. She smooths back my hair with surprising tenderness. "In times of war and lawlessness, even innocent maids may know great sorrow ere it ends."

I open my mouth to protest but she silences me with an upraised palm. "Hush now, lamb. There be horrors in this world ye've no cause to dwell on." Mother's cracked lips twist bitterly. "Those wretched girls likely came from some village what got razed overnight, leaving naught but smoking timbers and corpses behind."

She exhales slowly, worry creasing her brow. "Why, even our blessed abbot cannot curb the appetites of armed men turned beasts by rage and fear. Once chaos unchains, only the Lord's grace spares women from..." Aislin shudders violently, features bleak. "From fates crueler than death."

Clasping my hands, she says earnestly, "So I beg ye, Lile Ban, never stray far from my skirts when strangers pass through the village henceforth. And dinna glance their way lest ye draw a lusty eye!"

Aislin frames my face gently between her rough palms. "Yer beauty will prove curse enough soon as ye flower, poppet. This world holds only woe for women judged comely by wicked men." She attempts a wavering smile. "Pray our kind Erik returns ere then to make ye his bride. Now let's speak no more on't this night."

Mother slices the small loaf of hard rye bread she baked earlier, the coarse grains cracking beneath her blunt knife. She places a meager portion atop each wooden trencher on the scrubbed plank table.

"Come eat a morsel afore we sleep, lamb," she says wearily. "Yer father ent like to return this night with services on the morrow."

I slide reluctantly onto the rough-hewn bench, eyeing the unappetizing slab. "But Mama, this bread be stale as week-old horse feed," I complain. "Why can't we buy nice meat pies and sweetmeats with them silvers from Erik like Da gets to guzzle at the tavern?"

Aislin's face tightens with strained patience as she sits across from me. "Hush yer bellyachin' this instant, Lile Ban!" she scolds sharply. "Ye know full well every last coin goes to placatin' yer father's foul humors or we'd all feel the back o' his hand."

I scowl down at the pitted wooden surface. "I just don't see the point of gettin' silver payments if that Father keeps wastin' it all away…" My childish guise of ignorance momentarily slips in frustration.[...]