They halted the carriage for a short rest outside the Red Lantern House.
The driver sat on the bench, relaxed, almost cheerful after the long road, but I was the one who pulled the weight, step by step, mile after mile. The chains are tight today. They bite. I can still feel the dust of the road burning on my skin.

The Madame came out to greet him gracious, composed, her voice warm and practiced. While they spoke, she reached out and adjusted the collar at my neck, aligning it so it would sit “presentably” again. I bowed my head to her touch. What else could I do? Here, obedience is survival.

But the weight of the harness and the chains did not change. There are parts of my burden no one reaches for. Parts no one wants to acknowledge.

So I stood there, breathing through the ache, holding my posture, doing everything I’ve been taught, while the city looked on as if this scene were ordinary.

This is not a dramatic scene to them.

Just another stop. Just another day.