The Goblin's Burden

Eliana's mind, once filled with the grace of noble courts and the beauty of stately homes, now struggled to comprehend the grim reality that pressed down on her like a suffocating weight. The oppressive stench of Mold and decay clung to the air around her, seeping into her skin, and coating her thoughts like a heavy fog. Her body, no longer the slender form of a Lady Valerius, but the twisted, grotesque creature of a goblin, was a constant reminder of the cruelty that had befallen her. Her skin was coarse, greenish-grey, and covered in thick warts and scars from the countless beatings she'd endured. Her claws, once delicate fingers now warped into gnarled appendages, were too large to hold anything gracefully, but they were efficient—sharp tools for survival.

The goblin city, if one could call it that, was a nightmarish labyrinth of tunnels and caverns, all carved into the bowels of the earth. The walls were slick with slime, dripping with stagnant water, and coated in layers of grime. The air, thick with the scent of decay, choked her lungs with every breath. The claustrophobic tunnels twisted and turned in every direction, each passageway leading to some new form of misery. The goblins were a wretched, broken society, where only the strongest survived. Weakness was a death sentence, and compassion a luxury that none could afford.

Eliana's first few days, or perhaps weeks—she couldn't be sure in the unmarked passage of time—were a blur of confusion, pain, and fear. She was kept in a dark, filthy chamber, a tiny, damp space carved into the earth, barely large enough to lie down in. There was no bed, only a patch of cold stone where she huddled, trying to ward off the biting chill that seeped into her bones. Her skin itched constantly, the sensation of the goblin's coarse fur growing beneath her human flesh—a cruel reminder that she was now something less than human. The transformation had not only taken her body but had bent her mind as well. At times, she felt as if she were teetering on the edge of insanity.

The goblins who inhabited the city were creatures of the dark, ruled by cruelty, and driven by an insatiable hunger—hunger for food, for power, for violence. The city was a cesspool of brutality, a violent underworld where goblins fought constantly, both for survival and for dominance. They operated under a rigid hierarchy, and the weakest, like Eliana, were treated as little more than animals. She quickly learned that her only value here was her ability to toil—every day spent working until exhaustion, every hour measured by the threat of punishment.

The facility she had been thrown into was a place of forced labour—an underground forge, where goblins were made to work the bellows and strike anvils with raw, unrelenting force. The heat in the forge was unbearable, stifling the air and leaving the workers drenched in sweat, their bodies singed by the heat of molten metal. The clang of metal on metal echoed throughout the tunnels, a constant reminder of the grim work that defined their existence. Eliana had been thrown into the sweat and smoke of the forge, her small, malformed hands struggling to handle the crude tools they forced upon her. She was expected to Mold metal into weapons, crude swords, and jagged knives that would be used to maim and kill.

The goblins who oversaw the forge were no less monstrous. Their eyes were gleaming with malice, their bodies as warped and twisted as Eliana's own. They had no use for mercy, and their cruelty was practiced and efficient. One day, a massive goblin brute, the overseer of the forge, caught Eliana stumbling with a piece of iron too heavy for her to lift. Without warning, he lashed out, striking her across the back with a whip of thorned leather. The pain was searing, a jagged line of fire that left her gasping for air, her breath catching in her throat. The overseer's laughter rang in her ears as she collapsed to the ground, her body wracked with pain.

"Move faster, weakling!" he roared. "Or next time, I'll let you burn in the forge."

She had no choice but to rise, trembling, wiping the blood from her lips, and return to the unforgiving grind of her work. The days blended in a haze of exhaustion and fear. Her body ached from the constant labour, her hands calloused and blistered, and her feet raw from standing for hours on end. The work never ceased, and neither did the torment. Every goblin she encountered seemed to take delight in her suffering, their cruel words and mocking laughter a constant presence.

There were no moments of reprieve, no kindness. The goblins had no sympathy for one another, and Eliana was nothing but a toy for their sadistic games. She learned quickly to stay silent, to shrink into the shadows, to avoid drawing attention to herself. But even this wasn't enough to escape the daily torment. The smallest mistake, the slightest falter in her work, would lead to a beating. Even when she managed to avoid physical punishment, the emotional cruelty cut deeper. They mocked her human form, calling her "soft" and "weak," as if her former life had been a curse rather than a blessing.

There were others in the facility, other goblins who were as broken as Eliana, their spirits crushed under the weight of the constant abuse. Many were younger than her, some only children, their faces already twisted by the brutality of their existence. They, too, were forced to work in the forge, to sweat and suffer for the benefit of those higher up in the goblin hierarchy. Eliana, once a Lady of House Valerius, now stood side by side with these wretched creatures, reduced to nothing more than a laborer in a forgotten pit of hell.

And yet, despite the unrelenting horror that surrounded her, a glimmer of something—something stubborn and unyielding—burned inside Eliana. She began to observe, to study the goblins around her. She saw their weaknesses, their fears, the patterns in their cruelty. She learned how to avoid their ire, how to move in such a way that she didn't attract attention, and how to beg for scraps of food without showing too much desperation. She was learning the language of survival in this hellish place, and her mind was sharpening like a blade.

But it was not just survival that occupied her thoughts—it was vengeance. Her mind, though broken by the horrors of her new life, clung to one thought, one goal: to return. To return and make Theron pay for what he had done. She had been stripped of everything—her family, her wealth, her body—but she would not lose her mind. She would rise from this pit of misery, and when she did, her revenge would be swift and merciless.

For now, she would endure. She would survive. But every moment, every beat of her battered heart, was a step closer to the day when she would reclaim her life, her name, and her vengeance. The fire that burned in her chest was unyielding, and it would not be extinguished. The road to vengeance was long, but Eliana was no longer afraid of the darkness. She would carve her way through it, and when she emerged, she would be more than the lady she once was. She would be a force of nature, and nothing, not even the goblin king or the man who had betrayed her, would stand in her way.