Veela

My story is an ignored one. It's one that is often brushed aside, by people who believe that the world is full of goodness, with nice people who love each other and want nothing but world peace and harmony. Either that or it's dismissed as a tragedy that nothing can be done about.  Perhaps the latter is true, but that does not hinder me from letting the floodgates of my heart loose, emancipating my bottled emotions and letting my voice heard, so maybe, one day, this horrible atrocity will cease to exist. 

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1. Unbeknownst

My story is an ignored one. It's one that is often brushed aside, by people who believe that the world is full of goodness, with nice people who love each other and want nothing but world peace and harmony. Either that or it's dismissed as a tragedy that nothing can be done about. 

Perhaps the latter is true, but that does not hinder me from letting the floodgates of my heart loose, emancipating my bottled emotions and letting my voice heard, so maybe, one day, this horrible atrocity will cease to exist. 

Here goes...

My name is Margaret, and I was sold. Sold, like a piece of property. Sold to the dirty place full of pain and agony and smoke and drugs and drunks.

I was once a normal, pure girl like any other fifteen-year-old. I was a dancer. I had just gotten a scholarship to a all-girls boarding school in San Diego. Having lived in Omaha my whole life, this was a huge change.

I don't remember much about the days leading up to my capture. The memories are hazy, like I was recalling a dream. My flight left at eight in the morning. My mother woke me gently, and we dressed and said our final goodbyes. The bus took me to the airport, and I boarded within the hour. It was a three hour flight, and I had time to think. But the minute I landed, it was rush, rush, rush. The headmaster, Mr. Peters, picked me and three other girls up and drove us to the school. It felt surreal, more like a dream than reality. Unfortunately, the dream was quickly moving towards a nightmare.

Mr. Peters drove us to the school, a tall, magnificent building resembling an early nineteen-hundreds church, complete with stained glass windows and a towering steeple. The school was directly attached to a bus station, with several buses with tinted windows and windshields parked in the parking lot. He pulled his little car next to the station and unloaded our bags. He pointed us to the door of the school and gave us directions to the dormitories.

As we settled into the small rooms, I got to know the other three girls. Melissa was a ballet instructor's daughter, also having received full scholarship. The other two were twins, Mary and Macy. They, too, had gotten full scholarships. It was odd, now that I think of it, that we all believed we'd gotten the scholarship that I distinctly remember there only being two of, but I didn't want to sound rude, so I let it go. 

On the schedule, there was a note. There would be a special dinner to commemorate the newcomers, and we'd all be transported by bus to a nice restaurant, so to please dress nicely. 

Melissa let me borrow a white lacy sundress.

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