Siena watched the wood nymphs weep as they were sold, with sorrow in her eyes. She had known a wood nymph when she was growing up. She had sold the fruit that was produced from her tree, and it was the best fruit Siena had ever tasted. Juicy, sweet, always perfectly ripe - and the nymph had been one of the kindest souls she knew. She had even helped her family when times were lean. It hurt to watch three of them be sold off, the crowd practically salivating at the notion of raping the trio.<br/><br/>And her, when the time came.<br/><br/>The auction alternated for a long while, switching between the 'center attractions' and the bulk merchandise - now, primarily for labor slaves, or groups of women not exotic enough to warrant being centerpieces, but pretty enough to be sold in bulk to brothels and other, lesser dealers.<br/><br/>The sun beat down on her as Bengal began selling the Banshee, extolling the virtues to be had despite the gag in her mouth, a nearly eternal pleasure slave who would more than make up for the minor deficit of being able to kill with a scream. Or, of course, it would be a trivial matter to sever her vocal cords. Siena stared off into the market, trying to ignore the heat, and her thirst, willing herself to ignore the waterskin near her head.