Master's Play Thing Book One: Marrige

In a town as small as this, secrets don’t whisper; they shout. Everyone knew Jared was a cheat, and Aryn knew it best of all, simply because the grocery store checkout and the post office line wouldn't let her forget it. For months, she had lived with the "issue"—a ghost of a man who shared her bed but never her burdens. His routine was a clockwork insult: come home, lose himself in video games, demand dinner, and wait for the inevitable "emergency" work call that came at the exact same time every night. Tonight, the silence he left behind felt different. It felt like an ending. As soon as the door clicked shut, Aryn began to purge. It took surprisingly little time to erase him; she was the one who had bought the groceries, the furniture, and even the very shirt off his back. By the fourth box, she reached the shadowed recesses of the master closet. That’s when she saw it. Etched into the drywall was a sequence of symbols—strange, jagged writing that seemed to pulse. The moment her fingers brushed the markings, they erupted in a violent, neon green light. A sudden, hollow whoosh sucked the air from her lungs, and the world vanished into a terrifying, absolute black. The smell of cedar and laundry detergent was gone, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of wet earth and crisp, mountain-cold air. Aryn dropped to her knees, heart hammering against her ribs. Blindly, she crawled through the dirt until her hands struck cold metal: a ladder. With nowhere to go but up, she climbed. Each rung took her further from the darkness until her head broke the surface into a blinding, golden midday sun. Gasping, Aryn hauled herself out of the earth and stood on shaky legs. The small-town streets were gone. In their place stood a sprawling, icy landscape, and a weathered wooden sign creaking in the breeze: Weeping Willow Inn The heavy oak doors of the Weeping Willow Inn groaned as Aryn pushed them open, and the transition was like stepping into a dream—or a very expensive fever. Inside, the air didn't just smell like dust; it smelled like expensive tobacco, aged parchment, and something oddly like cinnamon. The lobby was a cavern of dark wood and velvet, lit by floating globes of that same neon green light she’d seen in her closet. There were only men inside the Inn, and when they spotted Aryn they all stopped and stared at her. Silence fell over the whole place. Aryn was scared and started to leave when a tall handsome man, steps behind her and says "honey, I believe you forgot about the curfew again." He leans close to her ear " follow along if you want to live!" He whispered. Aryn let out a nervous giggle and muttered "darling it's Thursday right?" The strange man grabs her hand and escorts her out the door, "no beautiful it's Monday. Let's go home." They walk out the door, the music starts playing again. The cool night air hits Aryn’s face, a sharp contrast to the suffocating, spice-heavy atmosphere of the Inn. The man didn't let go of her hand; his grip was firm, grounded, and surprisingly warm. He led her away from the porch and into the shadows of a cobblestone street that looked like it had been plucked from a century she didn't recognize. "Keep walking," he muttered, his eyes scanning the rooftops rather than the path ahead. "Don't look back at the windows. Especially not the ones on the third floor." "Who are you?" Aryn hissed, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "And what do you mean curfew? I was in my closet ten minutes ago!" The man stopped abruptly behind a wide stone pillar, pulling her into the darkness with him. Up close, he looked exhausted but strikingly sharp. This was Elias, though she didn't know his name yet. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since the lobby. "In this world, Aryn, 'Thursday' is a death sentence for a woman found alone in a public house. You’re lucky it’s Monday—though even that’s pushing it." He finally looked at her, his gaze dropping to her hand. "You touched the sigil. The green glow. It’s like a beacon to them." He reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a small, silver flask, pouring a drop of clear liquid onto her glowing fingertips. The light hissed and faded. "My name is Elias," he said, his voice dropping to a protective low. "And you’re currently the most interesting thing to happen to this town in fifty years. That’s a very dangerous thing to be." Aryn decides not to say a word and follow the man. Hoping she will find a phone or something at his house to get help. They walked a couple more blocks and the town was nothing like she had ever seen. Cobblestone roads, no electricity, water pumps outside each home. They come up to a huge castle styled house. With gargoyles on the pillars. They walk up the stairs and Elias pushes open the huge wooden door. "Hurry!" He ordered, "Get inside before anyone else sees you." The atmosphere shifted the moment Aryn crossed the threshold. The foyer felt less like a home and more like a curated sanctuary; gold-framed oil paintings lined the walls, suits of knight’s armor stood sentry on velvet-draped pedestals, and heavy curtains choked out the remaining daylight. Aryn remained rooted to the spot, her breath hitching at the sheer opulence. Elias moved with the practiced ease of someone who belonged there. He shrugged off his jacket, hooking it by the door, and reached for a brass lantern. The strike of a match cut through the dimness, casting long, flickering shadows against the tapestries. "You really are from far away, aren't you?" he asked, his voice low. Aryn didn't—or couldn't—answer with words. She simply nodded, her eyes darting from a marble bust to the intricate molding on the ceiling, trying to process a world so vastly different from her own. "Then you should listen closely," Elias continued, his tone turning clinical. "In this town, a woman’s agency is a disappearing act. You have until your twenty-fourth birthday to find a husband. If you reach twenty-five unattached, you become a 'house w***e'." Aryn whipped around, the wonder draining from her face in an instant. "A house what?" "A house w***e," Elias repeated flatly, adjusting the wick of the lantern. "The local term for the woman the town’s men are allowed to f*** whenever they want. It isn't a suggestion; it's a sentence.". "A sentence, like a prison sentence?" The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere deep in the mansion. Aryn felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. The velvet curtains and gold-leafed frames suddenly felt less like decorations and more like the bars of a very expensive cage. "A sentence," Aryn whispered, her voice trembling as she finally found it. "You say that as if it’s just… the weather. A matter of fact." Elias set the lantern down on a mahogany side table. The upward glow sharpened the angles of his face, making him look older, more severe. "To the people here, it is. This town is built on 'order' and 'tradition.' They view an unmarried woman as a wasted resource—or a threat to the peace. The house is their solution." He stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the polished floor. "How old are you, Aryn?" She swallowed hard, her mind racing through the implications of her answer. The opulence of the room seemed to dim, the knight's armor now looking like hollowed-out ghosts watching her every move. "Twenty-three," she managed to say. "I turn twenty-four in three days." Elias paused, his hand hovering over the lantern's handle. For the first time, a flicker of something like pity—or perhaps genuine concern—crossed his features. "Then you don't have time for awe," he said firmly. "You have three days to figure out how to navigate this world and get married, or three days to figure out how to leave it." "How am I going to get married in three days?" Aryn screamed, "I don't f*****g know anyone. I don't f*****g know where I crawled out of the di-." "Shh!" Elias reached over and put his hand over Aryn's mouth. "They will hear you." He whispered. Thud thud thud There was loud banging on the door. "Elias, we know you have an unmarried woman. Bring her out now." A strange voice said from the other side of the door. Thud thud thud