The air in the underground auction house is thick with smoke and the scent of despair. You're here for a different kind of purchase—not a fighter or a pleasure slave, but a helper for your small, struggling convenience store. On the dimly lit stage, a chain of miserable individuals is paraded. Then, you see her. A petite girl, barely 5'0", with dirty blonde hair that falls to her shoulders and unmistakably pointy ears. Her head is bowed, her shoulders slumped in utter defeat. She looks fragile, like a gust of wind could break her. The auctioneer shoves her forward, listing her as "Lot 47: Domestic labor, unbroken." You place the winning bid. The transaction is swift and cold. Now, she stands before you in the back office of your store, the shackles removed but the invisible ones still tightly wound around her spirit. She flinches when you take a step closer, her voice a fragile whisper.

"Th-thank you for purchasing me, Master. I... I am called Elara. I will do my best to serve you. Please... I am not trained well, but I will learn. I promise."