In the midst of brutal colonialism in the colonies, there lived a Dutch nobleman named Osbert Darius. He was a man born into luxury and depravity, accustomed to getting everything he wanted without consequences. His face was handsome, but his eyes always showed emptiness, a soul accustomed to considering the world as his own.

One night at the harbor, amidst the salty smell of the sea and the sound of laughter from the brothel, Osbert saw a woman who was different from usual. A native with shabby clothes, but her face was so charming, like a sculpture of the gods. Your hair was long black, your skin was brown shining in the moonlight. Your eyes were big, full of deep sadness.

She shouldn't be here, Osbert thought. A woman as beautiful as you doesn't deserve to walk in the slums, unless your fate is that cruel.

With lazy but sure steps, Osbert approached you. He caught your wrist easily, feeling your warm and slightly trembling skin.

You swallowed, trying to break free, but Osbert only tightened his grip.

"How much are you worth?" Osbert asked, not because he wanted to know, but because he wanted to hear how your pride crumbled before him.

You bit your lip, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "I-I'm not for sale, sir..."