Still there.

When your eyes fluttered open once more, the same rough-hewn ceiling greeted you, the same stale air filling your lungs, and the same unfamiliar weight pressed against your chest. A sob caught in your throat as she realized she was still here, still trapped in this body, still the barmaid in a world that felt like a cruel joke. The tavern was quiet now, the storm having passed sometime in the night, leaving behind a heavy silence broken only by the crackling of embers in the hearth. You sat up slowly, the straw rustling beneath her, and looked down at your hands, still small, still soft, still not your own. The scratch on your arm had scabbed over, a tangible reminder that this was no dream she could wake from. The tavern keeper's voice drifted from somewhere below, barking orders to someone unseen, and you felt the weight of your new reality settle over her like a shroud. There was no escape, no waking up in your car, no brother's voice on the phone. There was only this, a life you never asked for, a body you didn't recognize, and the slow, creeping dread of what the day would bring.

You heard the tavern keeper's heavy footsteps on the stairs before he appeared in the doorway, his bulk blocking the dim light from the hall. "Up and at 'em, lass," he grunted, jerking his head toward the stairs. "Time to learn your place." He led you down into the main room, pointing out the barrels of ale, the racks of chipped mugs, the cold hearth that would need to be stoked before the evening crowd arrived. His hand found the small of your back, guiding you with a pressure that felt less like direction and more like ownership, and as he turned you toward the kitchen, his palm slid lower, grazing the curve of your hip before settling on your backside with a deliberate, squeezing grip that made your breath catch in your throat. "You'll be serving from the left side of the bar," he said, his voice flat, as if he hadn't just stolen a handful of your flesh, as if the casual violation were nothing more than an afterthought. "Mugs in the right hand, ale in the left, and keep your eyes down unless you're taking an order." He released you with a final pat, the sting of the contact lingering like a brand, and you stood frozen in the middle of the tavern.

You forced your feet to move, each step carrying you toward the barrels of ale as if walking through deep water, and you grabbed a mug with trembling fingers, the chipped ceramic cool against your palm, before you heard the scrape of a chair and the heavy thud of boots approaching the bar. A man with a red, wind-chapped face and bloodshot eyes leaned over the counter, his breath washing over you in a wave of sour ale and something worse as he grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.

"Well now, ain't you a pretty little thing," he slurred, his companion elbowing him with a lecherous chuckle, and you felt your stomach turn, the instinct to snap back, to tell him exactly where he could shove his compliments, rising like bile in your throat. But the tavern keeper's gaze was a weight on the back of your neck, a silent reminder of your place, of the threats that hung unspoken in the air, and you swallowed hard, forcing your lips into a thin, tight smile that felt like a betrayal of every ounce of your being. "What can I get for you, sir?" you managed, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands, and as he ordered two ales with a wink that made your skin crawl, you turned to the tap, the motion of filling the mugs mechanical, your mind already retreating to a small, quiet corner of itself where you could pretend this was all a game, a role you were playing, and not the prison it truly was.

You had just set the two mugs on the bar, the foam sloshing over the rims, when the door swung open with a creak that cut through the low murmur of the tavern. The sound died instantly, every voice swallowed by a sudden, pressing silence, and you looked up to see a figure silhouetted against the grey morning light, tall, lean, with ears that tapered to delicate points, his cloak dark and damp from the road. The patrons who had been leering at you moments before now shrank back, their eyes fixed on their mugs, and the tavern keeper's hand froze mid-gesture, his bluster evaporating into the stillness. The elf's gaze swept the room, cold and unhurried, before settling on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle, and you felt the weight of his attention like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through the silence with a promise you couldn't name.

You stood frozen as the elf's boots carried him across the worn floorboards, each step measured and deliberate, the silence in the tavern so complete that the drip of water from his cloak sounded like a drumbeat. He stopped before you, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the sharp angle of his jaw, and the way his gaze seemed to strip away every pretense you had built since waking in this body. "A mug of your darkest ale," he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying an undercurrent of something ancient and knowing, and she reached for a mug before the tavern keeper's hand shot out, his thick fingers wrapping around her wrist with a grip that made you wince. "The girl's not trained for serving your kind," the tavern keeper growled, his voice rough with a fear he tried to mask, but the elf's smile was thin and cold, a blade drawn in the dim light. "I think she will manage," he said, and the words hung in the air like a challenge, the tavern keeper's hand tightening before releasing her with a reluctant shove that sent you stumbling toward the tap, your heart pounding as she realised you were caught between two forces, each one a different kind of cage.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the tap, the elf's gaze still fixed on you with that unsettling intensity, and in your haste to obey, to escape the tavern keeper's bruising grip and the elf's piercing attention, you made the mistake of glancing up, your eyes meeting his for a fraction of a heartbeat, and the world fell away. The dim tavern, the smell of stale ale, the weight of your new body, all of it dissolved into a sea of silver and starlight, his irises swirling with depths that pulled you under like a riptide, and you felt yourself falling, not down but inward, into a vastness that held whispers of ancient forests and forgotten songs, of a life that was not yours and yet felt more real than the trembling flesh you now inhabited. The elf's lips parted, a flicker of surprise crossing his angular features before it was gone, and you blinked, tearing your gaze away with a gasp that burned in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs as you realized you had been gone, truly gone, for a moment that stretched into eternity, and when you looked back at the tap, the mug was overflowing, the dark ale spilling over your fingers and pooling on the bar, and you could not remember how long you had stood there, lost in those impossible depths.

You felt a rough hand on your arm, the tavern keeper's fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you aside, his breath hot and sour against your cheek while the elf watched from the bar, his expression unreadable.

"Don't you get any ideas about falling for his kind," the tavern keeper hissed, his voice low and venomous, his other hand gesturing vaguely toward the elf, "they're all the same, sweet-talking and smooth, but they'll leave you worse than they found you." He squeezed your arm, his eyes glinting with something between contempt and pity, his free hand moving to grip your chin and force your gaze to meet his, "I know how weak women are, especially ones like you, fresh and confused, your head full of dreams you can't even remember." The words hung in the air, a bitter prophecy, and you felt the truth of them settle into your bones even as a part of you rebelled, a flicker of defiance that was smothered by the weight of his hand and the elf's watching silence, the tavern keeper releasing you with a shove that sent you stumbling back toward the bar, his final words a whisper that followed you like a curse, "Remember who owns you now."

You stood frozen, the tavern keeper's words still burning in your ears, when the elf's voice reached you not as sound but as a whisper that seemed to bloom directly inside your skull, bypassing your ears to settle in the hollow of your chest like a seed taking root. "I can help you," he breathed, his lips barely moving, his gaze holding yours with that same impossible depth that had swallowed you moments before, and you felt a desperate, aching hope kindle beneath your ribs, a warmth that spread through the cold numbness that had settled into your bones since waking in this body, even as the tavern keeper's warning coiled around your throat like a serpent, whispering that every cage is still a cage, even one gilded with promises and silver eyes.

"That's enough," the Tavern keeper shouted, dragging the elf towards the door, "Ge out!" And then, he turned to you, "With me, now!" and he walked off towards the back of the bar. You gulped.