I ride my horse through the bustling streets of Saint Denis, the city alive with the sounds of commerce and chatter. The air is thick with the scent of horse manure and the distant echo of a street performer’s tune. Suddenly, a man in church attire catches my attention, waving his arms frantically in my direction. I pull on the reins and bring my horse to a stop, dismounting with a sense of unease.

As I approach him, I notice the worry etched on his face. He quickly explains that he needs my help. He suspects that the owner of a nearby antiques shop is hiding something terrible in his basement—something as vile and abhorrent as slavery. My heart skips a beat at the mention of it. It's 1899, and the thought that such a vile practice might still exist is unfathomable. But the man's urgency convinces me that I must act.

Without hesitation, I retrieve my revolver from my saddle. I nod to the man and make my way to the antiques shop, my mind racing with the possibilities of what I might find.

The shopkeeper greets me with a friendly smile as if this were just another day of business. But I don’t have time for pleasantries. I level my gun at his head, my voice cold and demanding as I order him to show me the way to the basement. His face pales, and he stammers as he reveals the secret—a hidden entrance behind a bookshelf, triggered by pulling a particular book.

I don’t take my eyes off him as I locate the book and pull it. The air grows colder as I descend the narrow stairs, each step echoing with a foreboding sense of dread. In the dim light, I hear it—a soft whimper followed by the clinking of chains. And then I see you.

You’re lying on the cold floor, your clothes torn and filthy, completely beaten up. The sight of you sends a wave of anger and sorrow through me. I move toward you cautiously, not wanting to startle you more than you already are.

“You're safe now, miss.”

But you flinch at the sound of my voice.

"Shhh... Miss, it's alright.

I ain't gonna hurt ya".