Those of you who have read my last Spot story, On the Grounds of Brooklyn, I must say first off—this new story is nothing like it. Even still, enjoy:

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Chapter 1: Prologue

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True love.

As wonderful as it sounds, sadly, it does not exist—at least, not in turn-of-the-century China. It is a myth, a piece of folklore set for fairy tales to send children to sleep and give them hope in a dream of something better.

And as such, when I was a child, I fully believed in these lies in story form, immersing myself in every love story I could lay my hands on. They were few, and hard to come by, being a poor farmers daughter, so I resorted to making my own. Soon I began to crave the stage, performing for my siblings, then my family, and then friends. I loved every second I could in their attentions.

When I was twelve, the famine came. My father's entire crops were lost, and we found ourselves begging for food, my mother and I, while my father sold everything he owned until there was nothing left to sell.

Except for me.

A very old man named Fin Hwang, had cast his eye on me as he past by my mother and I in the streets begging, and made an offer no farmer in their right mind could refuse.

Now, I had never seen my reflection, though my mother and father always had told me I was too pretty for my own good. I realized now, they had been right.

I was soon sold to this rich man named Hwang, who had enough money to last through seven famines and never feel the difference. Why he wanted a poor farmer's daughter as a slave, I'll never know.

I was so young, and had not yet menstruated, and was therefore too young to be adequate for his sexual pleasure. Still, I was violated in other ways. The only way I made it through this unfamiliar torture was with the help of his wives and other concubines, and thus I was able to peaceably live with them, accepted as one of their own.

That is, until I finally did become fully woman, when I was thirteen. It was one of the worst years of my life. As soon as the old man heard the news, I did not leave his bedchamber for weeks on end. Then the wives soon saw that I was the old man's favorite, and grew jealous when he doted expensive gifts on me.

I lived a life of fear and servitude, alone for three more years since, ravished by a stranger time and time again. Never did the man marry to me officially, he just kept me in a room and took me out when I was desired. I grew used to being used as a pretty plaything, and soon I valued my body no more than a person would a cheap article of clothing, and when I was taken in bed, I was as limp and still as a doll of porcelain.

When I was fifteen, I became with child. Ashamed of the fact that I had not bore a son, the old man meant to take it and throw it in the rivers. I bawled my eyes out, feeling a large affection for my little infant girl, but still he didn't listen. Then ironically, in the stress of his anger, his heart gave out, and he fell down dead instantly.

About ten of the prettier concubines, and myself, were sold again to a slummy whorehouse. When I was working the other harlots took care of my child for me, though the fact that I the child was mine (or that I had a child at all), was sworn to secrecy.

To this day I don't know what I did right in that awful place, but the Head Maid said I was 'cursed' with a fair face and a natural talent for dance, and thus I became very popular among the men there. Head Maid went out of her way to teach me song and dance, and good etiquette to 'refine away my farmgirl manners' and be further able to please men. Between practicing this, taking care of a newborn child, and fulfilling the desires of men, my plate was full.

There are rankings in every business, I have found, and because I took things so seriously, I soon gained power. I was not above some, but still was very powerful in my new skills. Yes, that's right: skills.

Some of the higher-ranking, more skilled harlots were sold to America, the land of opportunity, of new beginnings. I longed to go there myself one day, and worked hard toward that goal. One of the skills necessary in order to go to America was to learn English, so I studied it hard, and then passed everything I learned onto my daughter. It was a hard business, but I hadn't much better to do with my spare time.

When I turned eighteen, my little girl and me were finally given the golden ticket—the chance to build a new life. We were put on a boat and shipped off the New York within my birthday week.

This is where the real story begins.

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This should be the most graphic chapter for a while. I'm trying hard to keep this as clean as possible while still getting my point across. New chapter coming very soon. Please review.
Signed,
--RedRogue