She hides in a Brothel (MF, brief)

She froze as she saw it. Silver hair, like her own, braided. Belonging to a woman not a stone throws away. She watched as the girl, likely Lysenne, entered a building. And then she saw another, her hair not nearly as white, but blonde.

She pushed forward towards them, hoping maybe she could hide there, disappear among familiar-looking faces.

The Lysenne shared a Valyrian ancestry with her own people, shared their looks. Maybe it was a traveling merchant, or a rich family and their entourage. It hardly mattered, it was her only chance.

The doors of the building swung open and she nearly ran into herself, or at least her doppelganger. But this version of her was half a foot taller, her hair a touch lighter than her own and done up in a loose braid. Her dress was too tight and its neckline dipped well past her navel, exposing the swell of her breasts. Worst of all she wore a leather slave collar around her neck.

The woman gave her an unassuming look up and down, then rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to what was happening inside the building and one of the many men who were trying to vie for her attention.

Inside the building was large and open and reeked of booze and smoke and other things. There was a bar at the far end serving a dozen men, tables and chairs scattered around where others drank, cushioned booths lined one wall. Stairs hugged another wall leading to a second-floor walkway open to the main room lined with doors.

And then there were the girls. There were dozens of them. All of them with light hair and eyes, wearing dresses in the style she had worn before. All of them looked like her. She stood stunned.

All of them smiling and drinking, some of them sitting on the laps of men, of patrons.

She heard the moan and turned to see a young girl with violet eyes cry out, her breasts swaying as she was taken by a man standing behind her, fucking her. Another girl was at the bar, on her knees sucking on the cock of a man drinking an ale. Another girl was on her back on top of a table, one man in her mouth, another between her legs.

She felt dizzy at the sight of so many women that looked just like her being used and debased. She watched as others dragged men up the stairs into private rooms. Others nearly hung off men, laughing and smiling and flirting.

It wasn't a Lysenee merchant's home or a traveling wealthy family, it was a brothel.