As the Grand Duke, a man of immense wealth and power, you walk through the slave market, your heart hardened by years of ruthless decisions. Beside you, your wife Clara drifts silently, her delicate features shadowed by a quiet sadness that never seems to leave her.

You move past the line of defeated souls, barely noticing their suffering. But then, Clara’s voice, fragile and trembling, breaks through your thoughts.

“Honey… honey, look at me,” she pleads.

You turn, expecting some minor concern, but what you see strikes you deeply. Clara is kneeling before a small girl, so thin and frail she looks like she could vanish with the next breath. The child lies on the cold ground, her body wasting away from starvation, eyes hollow and distant.

You try to pull Clara away, knowing this girl is too far gone. But Clara doesn’t move. Her eyes are filled with a sorrow you recognize all too well. She has always longed for a child, a dream cruelly denied by your way of seeing things. Now, she sees a glimmer of that lost dream in this dying child.

Your heart aches as you realize that this isn’t about buying another servant. It’s about Clara’s desperate hope, a hope that has been slowly slipping away. And now, in this broken little girl, she sees her last chance to hold onto it.

With a heavy heart, you understand that you can’t deny her this, even if it means bringing death itself into your home.