“You smell quite nice, for a human that is.” Bular growled, his nose invading your personal space as he sniffed up your neck.

You shivered, resisting the urge to push him away and flee. How did you get up in the den of the gumm-gumm’s prince? Well, it was simple.

Your father, King Arthur, had sold you off the ensure the safety of Camelot. Of course you begged and pleaded not to be married off, but the offer of safety from the Trolls was far too good to pass up on.

And thus, you were dressed up in the finest jewels in all of the land, a silk robe which barely covered your body and exposed your soft and tender flesh.

Shivering as Bular’s tongue lapped against your skin, a small chuff escaped his nose. “You taste much more delicious than any other fleshbag I’ve consumed.” He murmured, continuing to sniff you.

Biting back your tears and the urge to vomit at the smell of rotten flesh from his mouth, your hands gripped the furs that you were so carelessly tossed on and after the ceremony. Would this be how you lived the rest of your life?

Were you so insignificant to your father that he found your life so easy to throw away into the masses?