A tall bottle of blue perfume, with a slightly rusted spritzer mechanism and a missing cap. A heart-shaped jar with a collection of dead miniature roses in it, of the warm pink variety (with one white one). A book of famous British poetry, with yellowing pages and tears along the spine (and a nasty rip on the back cover from a fight). Three hair clips, six hair ties, a slightly bent set of wire-rim glasses and several piles of dust. These were the things on Alice's bedside table. On Alice's walls, there was nothing, but a single, mediocre painting of flowers across from the window, which was next to the bed, with hardly any space between the two things. Fortunately Alice was very thin and could easily maneuver in cramped quarters. Across from the bed, a thick blue armoire squatted, containing Alice's meagre supply of clothes and her personal jewelry box, which was also sadly lacking. In Alice's bed, there was Alice, wearing her white nightgown, with thin straps and a poorly-sewn bit of lace she'd been meaning to tear off the bottom for ages, the result of an early, misguided sewing project. Also in Alice's bed, there were two other women, but Alice didn't know that just yet. It wasn't until plump, soft lips pressed against her ear and a warm, pale arm tightened around her waist, and a sleepy voice trilled quietly in her ear that she became aware.

"Bonjour, ma cherie."

"Bonnefoy!" It was almost supernatural, how the knowledge of Marianne touching her could jolt Alice right out of what had appeared to be a peaceful slumber. She jerked upright, already hissing and snarling like a feral cat. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"It's hardly yours, cherie," Marianne said, stretching lazily, apparently unconcerned with Alice's fury.

"Is it time to get up?" Another dark head popped up from under the covers, speaking in a confused, semi-conscious manner.

"Isabella!" Alice's anger doubled and a dull red flushed her cheeks. "Get out!" She shoved Marianne. "She followed you in here! Get out of the bed!"

"But it's only ten o'clock," Marianne whined, allowing her body to be jostled by Alice, but not making any attempt to move out of the bed. Isabella didn't even reply; she'd conked back out. "I was going to sleep with Anya, but she and Tiesa looked so cozy." She covered her mouth delicately as she yawned and stretched again. "I couldn't disturb them."

"Get out!" Alice leaned over her to shove Isabella, who merely snored in response. Her sleek brown hair spread across the pillow, piling over Marianne's darker locks so the two women could almost be two sides of a coin: Where Marianne had porcelain skin and clear blue eyes, Isabella had tan, almost chestnut skin and vibrant green eyes. Where Marianne was curvy and had an almost childish softness to her face without the make-up, Isabella was all angles, sharp and mature. Ironically, each woman had period fits of jealousy over the other's physique: Marianne felt fat compared to Isabella and Isabella felt underdeveloped compared to Marianne. But they always got over it and their friendship seemed to weather any storm.

In an attempt to calm Alice, Marianne wrapped her arm around the other woman again, and tried to tug her back to the mattress. All she really succeeded in doing was showing Alice that she wore nothing aside from her underwear and, unable to dislodge the two continentals from her bed, Alice spat a few more curses at them and got up. Marianne shrugged and sighed; Isabella rolled over and pulled Marianne into her arms. The two women went back to sleep and Alice went downstairs.

Her footsteps made almost no sound as she went down the main stairs, making sure to stay on the rug that ran down the center. When she reached the first floor, she had no choice but to step on the chilly wood floors and shuffled into the kitchen. On the table, there was a plate of scones and Alice helped herself to one of those, and put the kettle back on the stove to re-heat the tea someone else had made earlier. From the sound of it, no one else was up yet. She sat at the table and when the kettle whistled, she hastily pulled it off and poured herself a cup; she didn't want to be responsible for waking anyone else up.

But the Mistress was already up and she looked into the kitchen at the sound, surveying Alice for a moment.

"Make sure you've gotten enough sleep," she reminded Alice.

"I have," Alice said, flicking her eyes away. Nothing here was personal—not even one's own sleep schedule. They had to be monitored all the time and Alice hated it.

"Marianne worked late last night; don't let her get up too early," the Mistress added. Her black hair was pulled back in a bun, graying slightly. She was middle-aged now, but she had probably been attractive at one point. Even if her face had lost its youth and smoothness, she still held an air about her that commanded men's attention.

Alice snorted.

"I don't think that's a risk," she scoffed, taking another bite from her scone. The Mistress eyed her for a moment and then vanished back down the hall to her office. Alice let out a quiet sigh and finished her scone and tea in silence. When she was done with that, she pulled out a few chunks of ham from dinner the night before and nibbled on that as she went back upstairs. Marianne and Isabella were still fast asleep in the bed, despite the sunlight glaring through the thin, gauzy curtains. She gave them a displeased look before fishing her blue dress and black stockings from the armoire. She got dressed and went into the bathroom to do her hair, where she found Sakura in the bathtub. The Japanese woman startled slightly and her arms flew up to cross over her chest.

"Oh! I did not know anyone else was awake," she said, looking embarrassed.

"That stupid French slut and the Spanish twat are in my bed," Alice grumbled as she brushed through her hair and pulled it into pigtails. She'd worn it that way as long as she could remember and she'd never bothered to come up with a new way to wear it, despite Marianne's offers to help her come up with something "sexier".

The water sloshed quietly as Sakura drew her knees up. "Oh. I see." That was her textbook response when she was disinterested in what was going on or didn't know how to respond. Alice was used to getting it when she started complaining about Marianne (or Isabella, for that matter). She carried on regardless. Sakura was used to that.

"They're so obnoxious," Alice went on, making a face as she leaned towards the mirror to put in her earrings. "That frog knew Isabella would follow her into my bed and she came anyway! Working late, my arse. The Mistress could run the whole bloody place with no one but Marianne in it!"

"That would be impractical," Sakura replied, wondering if she could duck her head under the water and have an excuse not to reply at all. Alice sighed.

"Bloody frog. She's going to get syphilis one of these days and who will be laughing then?"

"No one?" Sakura guessed, unsure what the proper reply was. She didn't think anyone would laugh about getting syphilis; more than one woman in the house had succumbed to it before. Her reply, though, almost made Alice feel bad about implying she'd laugh if Marianne got syphilis. Although the idea of it did give her some sort of balm for her wounded pride, in that Marianne was so much more successful than Alice. It wasn't Alice's fault that Marianne was everything she wasn't. The Frenchwoman was charming and sweet (deceptively so!) and easily played stupid for the egos of the men, something Alice could never bring herself to do. She was never biting or sarcastic and seemed to know all the right things to say. Marianne was gentle and artistic and most importantly, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Sometimes they speculated that Marianne had more regular customers than total customers the House saw in one night. Which was why it was incredible she was still here. She must have had one hell of a fucking debt to pay off, Alice thought. Of course, with Marianne's preference for expensive things, that wasn't too hard to imagine.

"Are you going somewhere?" Sakura asked her as Alice carefully applied a few squirts of perfume to her wrists and rubbed them together.

"Ah…I thought I'd go down to the bookstore," she said, flustering slightly. She couldn't afford anything there and she felt foolish saying that just being amongst the books made her feel better.

"Oh. Have fun, then." Sakura sank beneath the lukewarm bathwater so that only her dull brown eyes lurked above the surface, alert as ever.

"I will. Cheerio." Alice straightened her apron and scuttled out of the bathroom, feeling a bit embarrassed. Nevertheless, she did carry through her plan to walk down to the bookstore. Alice was the one who most often left the House; most of the other women rarely strayed off the property unless they were going ensemble for a day off. She reviewed the books in the windows before going in and finding a little cranny where she could sit and read copies of her favorite books, aching with desire for them to be hers.

Alice had never liked her movement to be restricted. It was one of the things she hated about being a member of the House; the Mistress always had to know where they were and who they were with and what they were doing; they were essentially her property. They were most certainly her business tools, her merchandise. Sometimes she felt no better than a cow in herd of cattle. The young woman shook her head, pushing these thoughts away. She came here to relax and have a little while to herself, not think bitter thoughts about her lot in life.

For a couple hours, Alice absorbed herself in reading and by the time she came back, the house was awake. Lovina was squabbling with Marianne over some poet or another, Anya was trying to feed Tiesa bites of oatmeal while Tiesa weakly protested that she was full, Elizabeta was putting Meimei's silky hair into an elaborate French braid which they'd have to take out later that night. The day was progressing as usual.

When the afternoon began to wear on, the Mistress instructed the girls upstairs to get ready. There was much pushing and fumbling and "Can you tie this for me?" and "Has anyone seen my pearl earrings?"

Sakura wandered over when she'd gotten on her cheap, imitation kimono, something she wore nearly every night, unless they were having a theme. The Mistress liked to emphasize the foreignness of some girls—hence why Sakura's nickname was simply "The Japanese". Although she never said it, Alice got the feeling she was a bit put out with that being her title. But since she had spoken so little English on arrival and was so quiet in general, she had not supplied anything herself. The Mistress chose all their names, though, Alice hadn't yet heard of anyone getting to pick their own.

"Oh, Sakura—can you clasp this necklace for me?" Alice asked, crouching a little so petite Sakura could reach the back of her neck to clip on the fake gold pendant. Over by one of the theater-style mirrors, Elizabeta had reached across Marianne to get something and it ended in an extended kiss. Angelique was complaining that Anya's make-up was far too pale for her to use and was on her way to rifle through a few other drawers in search of darker make-up.

It took some time for them to all be ready; they filtered down a few at a time and arranged themselves in the parlor. Isabella stretched out on the couch and Marianne sat between her long, brown legs, leaning back against Isabella's barely-covered chest. The two had a pretty little show of fawning on each other for the entertainment of clients; they sometimes made out with each other to this end and a few times men had even requested they go down on each other; they never refused. Although they were both quite skilled in faking orgasms so it was no trouble for them to feign the whole thing if one or both of them was too tired.

Sakura and Meimei sat together, speaking quietly in Japanese. No one really knew where they'd come from or even how old they were; they never spoke about their past and no one ever asked. Most of the women were pretty sure Meimei didn't even speak English. She was perky though, and nice to be around even if she was quiet.

Anya was lounging in one of the armchairs, her eyes flicking around the room like she was planning either an escape or a murder. Anya had always been a bit…alarming, to some costumers and even some of the girls. But her voluptuous chest on display kept her here permanently; no one else came close to matching her bust.

Lovina was leaning against the wall by the window, scowling as usual. Once Alice had confided to Isabella that she didn't understand how Lovina got any customers when she was so angry all the time and had nothing but insults for anyone. Isabella had cheerily asked wasn't that the same attitude Alice herself had? Alice didn't confide anything else in Isabella.

They passed around bottles of gin and cheap wine; Alice wished they had whisky. But after a few…less than reputable incidents, the Mistress had decline to let Alice drink hard liquor before work. Alice declined to comment on those incidents, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world if some chap's shoes had ended up taking a stroll on the roof. They had gotten them down, eventually.

The Mistress had lit up the lamps in front of the house and now the bell was ringing; she went to answer it. The girls strained to hear the voices of the men, to tell who was coming.

"I hope I don't get fucking Antonio again," Lovina piped up, despite the proximity of their coming customers.

"Oh, Antonio is sweet," Marianne protested. Lovina just gave her a look of disgust.

"He's a fucking dumbass, if you and Isabella want to deal with him, be my guest."

"Maybe if you joined us you wouldn't be so snippy," Isabella suggested, extending a lazy hand to Lovina with a welcoming look. Marianne resettled between Isabella's smooth thighs and gave Lovina an equally seductive look.

"Fuck off," Lovina snapped, her face coloring lightly as she looked away. "You two are such goddam perverts." When she got the bottle of wine, she thrust it into Isabella's hand. Isabella just smiled and took a drink.

"We love you too, Lovi!" As the first customers started to shuffle in, looking about almost as if they half-expected their wives to leap out from behind a couch with an accusing finger aimed at them. Isabella gave them a lascivious grin and tipped the wine bottle over Marianne's mouth; dark fluid leaked down her chin and onto her plump bosom.

"Hey, Eve!" Marianne face twitched lightly; she strove not to wince. Instead, she fixed a languid smile on her face and reached a delicate hand out to the approaching man. "Long time no see, hm?" He grinned and grabbed her hand too tightly.

"Hello, Gilbert," she said, looking up at him from through half-lidded eyes. His eyes raked over her and as he took a seat on the couch, Marianne moved away from Isabella to sit across his lap. "You haven't been paying attention to me," she pouted, stroking his face.

"I was away on business, chick," Gilbert said, grabbing her hips. Marianne reached out, without looking away from Gilbert, and took the wine bottle back. She held it up to Gilbert's lips. "Don't you have anything stronger?" he whined.

"Strong drinks for the men," Marianne said. "Pretty things for the women. Here, taste something pretty." She offered it to him again and he let her pour a bit of wine into his mouth.

A pair of hands slid over Lovina's eyes.

"Hello, my Firecracker," a voice purred in her ear. She swatted blindly.

"Dammit, Daniel, I know it's you!" Daniel grinned and pulled his hands away, dropping himself down in one of the chairs with his legs draped over the arm. He slapped his thigh.

"Come sit with me, Firecracker!" he declared.

"You're an idiot," Lovina said, but she sashayed over and sat (heavily) on Daniel's lap. "Where've you been all this time?"

"It's only been a few days, Firecracker," Daniel said, bouncing her lightly with his leg. "Did you miss me so much?"

"No, I finally had some peace and quiet," she said, crossing her arms. Alice would've thought that Lovina's sour attitude would give her a dead end in this job, but as it turned out, there were men who found her abrasive nature charming or even enjoyed being berated by her. Alice thought they were idiots. She also wished she was just a bit more surly, to be on Lovina's level. Maybe then she'd get more customers.

When Tiesa was done with her first customer, she went into the bathroom to rinse her mouth out and wipe her thighs off. He'd only been with her because Anya was busy—or so he said, anyway. Tiesa dearly liked to believe otherwise, not that she had much evidence. Angelique was in there, gargling with the green liquid herself.

"Who were you with?" she asked as Tiesa grabbed a sponge to clean up.

"Nikolai," she said, slightly breathlessly. Angelique's eyes flicked over her and then she took a cup of water without responding.

"Was it good?" she asked at last, examining herself in the mirror.

"It was…nice," Tiesa said hesitantly. Nikolai had been rough, but he was always rough. Pity wrested her heart for him; she doubted anyone had shown him gentleness in his life. No one else was as patient with him—the mere presence of him nearly reduced Anya to tears. She'd been with him only once and Tiesa remembered it because Isabella had had to call Tiesa over to calm Anya down and get her out of the room. He reminded her too much of someone else, Anya had confided partially in Tiesa. Of another time. She didn't elaborate, but Tiesa had her guesses.

"Eduard is downstairs, if you'd like a go at him tonight," Angelique offered, sliding the bottle of mouthwash over to Tiesa. She was still undecided on the matter when Angelique patted her arm and walked back out to go hunt down another customer.

Alice was lounging on one of the couches, leaning against some fellow who was blathering away to Meimei about some inane hunting story or another. She hadn't had any customers yet, but as her eyes roved the room slowly, a voice called out.

"Little Jewel!" She turned to the sound and saw Lars lingering in the middle of the floor, arms slightly crossed. Taking a quiet breath, she peeled herself off the couch and meandered over to him. Her name had come at a suggestion from Marianne—the Frenchwoman had remarked that Alice's eyes were like emeralds—little jewels. Petite bijoux, she had said. Alice didn't like it—she wasn't a piece of jewelry to be ogled and handled by people who weren't looking to buy. Yet here she was, so she supposed she had little room to make that complaint.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" she asked, forcing herself to reach a hand out to him. He slid his hand into hers and Alice quietly led him upstairs. It was always the same with Lars, which she supposed should have been a relief, but it was also enormously dull.

Sitting on the bed, sliding her clothes off a little bit at a time; watch the way his chest tightens and his eyes begin to scan her body.

She's sitting up oh so straight, because Mummy always says, "Sit up straight, Alice!" And now she is, she's on her little stool sitting up so nice and ramrod straight, it would make Mummy proud.

Tilt her head back, draw a leg up, tempt him. He sheds the scarf and coat; already she can hear his breathing hitching to a lustful pant. Here he comes to her now.

There's big brother, stumbling in the door. His face is slack with shock and Alice can see him trembling from here.

"Seamus! Where's Mummy? I'm sitting straight, you see?" Alice squeaks, smoothing her dress and straightening her glasses. Seamus' lips move but no sound comes out. He licks them, swallows, tries again.

"Dead," he whispers. Eyes grow behind her smudged lenses. For a moment she struggles for words.

"You liar! You're a dirty liar, Seamus! Where's father?"

"Dead, Alice." Seamus slumps back against the wall and slides to the floor, covering his face with his hands.

"Stop it! Stop lying!"

Let him push her back, spread her legs. That's always it, spread your legs, spread your legs, spread them wide open. Feign noises of pleasure as he plants sloppy kisses on her breast, rutting his hips against hers.

More footsteps. Iona and Dyllis push through the door and Seamus hastily jumps to his feet, attempting to seem in control of his emotions, perhaps.

"Iona! Where's Mummy?" Alice demands.

"Dead." Iona's voice trembles a bit, but Alice doesn't believe it. Her big siblings are always playing tricks on her; that's all it is, a trick, a prank, a lie.

"Stop lying to me!" she screeches, leaping to her feet.

"Oh Alice. I'm sorry." Dyllis' eyes well up too and Alice can't breathe. What's wrong? Why can't she breathe? The world hasn't suddenly run out of air!

One, two, three. Count, Sakura had told her. Four, five, six. Counting helps. Takes your mind off it a little. Seven, eight, nine. The bed creaked beneath them; in the big window, the Mistress paused to watch and see how Alice was doing. Ten, eleven, twelve.

"Hurry up." The men in brown suits are impatient; Seamus wants to give Alice more time, but they don't have it. She's walking down the steps, dragging her hand along the railing and Seamus grasps her around the waist, lifting her away.

"Come on lassie," he murmurs. Out they go, into the carriage, into the gray afternoon.

Twenty four, twenty five, twenty six. Alice wondered if she could go back and buy a book even though she's poor as all-get out. Twenty seven, twenty eight, twen—no, finished. Panting, waiting, catching of breath. Gathering of clothes. Thanks. Money.

They stand in line every few weeks with some new couple looking them all over, each one standing as straight as can be, except those who are too old to care, because it will never be them.

The first couple wants a sturdy boy to work their farm; with no children of their own, they need help. So Seamus tells Alice to be brave and kisses Iona's forehead and is gone. Iona calls him something nasty as he leaves, but Alice hears her crying later that night.

The second couple is beautiful, oh-so clean and neat and Alice straightens up so much she almost falls over backwards. Their eyes rove and roam and hesitate at Alice. Her blood surges and she feels dizzy. They deliberate. Alice waits.

"We simply can't take three," they tell the headmistress in her office. "Two, but not three. Three is too many. You understand. We can't take three children. You understand, don't you?"

So Iona and Dyllis walk away, and when Dyllis glances back at Alice, her eyes are glassy.

"See you later," Lars deigned to grunt on his way out, glancing back at Alice still splayed out on the bed.

"Cheerio." There's no emotion or inflection in her voice; she's too lost in her own world.

They come and come and come, but never for Alice. For ten more years, they come. And then she has to go.

Only on her own does she understand Seamus' remarks about hunger, having slipped Alice portions of his meals to keep her healthy. When one is hungry, one thinks of nothing else. Nothing else matters. Alice doesn't even have the strength to weep for herself when Marianne finds her.

When she stands before the Mistress, she can't stand up without Marianne supporting her; the reek of perfume from the Frenchwoman makes her head spin.

"Her eyes are like emeralds, Madame," she says. "Look how slender and petite she is. She'll be perfect."

"Hm," says the Mistress. And a few minutes later, Alice is not Alice, but Little Jewel, and she has a job.

Sakura is at the door with her hunting gentleman.

"Miss Alice? May we have this room?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." She got off the bed and stuffed herself back into her dress, grabbing her other things as she hurried past. "Terribly sorry."

She went into the bathroom, which was empty for now, and wiped her legs off thoroughly, being sure to use the spermicide, before she finished getting dressed and gargled with the mouthwash. She spat and looked in the mirror, straightening her hair and dress. When she was out of things to do, she just stood and stared for a long time, maybe trying to see or find something in herself. Whatever it was, she gave up before she found it, and turned to go back downstairs. If she was lucky, she could grab another client (maybe two) before the night was spent.