All that saved the elf from kneeling in her own emesis was that she had not eaten that day, so there was nothing on her stomach for her to lose.  The pain that radiated outward from her back and side was intense though and she gagged, her stomach clenching tight and causing her to heave as she huddled on her hands and knees.<br/><br/>The eyes that looked up at him after he spat his judgment at her were filled with emotion, pain, shame and frustrated rage.  She couldn’t disagree with him, which was what hurt the most.  She was pathetic, unable to even affect her death at the hands of one that clearly saw no value in her, saw nothing to be lost in taking her life.  He could easily kill her, but appeared to have chosen otherwise – either because he would deny her or because he found amusement in how little effort it took to bring her to her knees.  It had been like that all of her life, others deciding for her how her life would be spent.<br/><br/>Around her elven women screamed, cried, prayed, or fell silent in unconsciousness or death, but before her was a sight that Shaelee had never thought to behold.  Far from unwilling, Makretia eagerly touched the orc, baring him.  Too astonished to hide her reaction, Shaelee stared as the beautiful woman – for even dirty and bruised she dark haired elf was lovely.  She couldn’t tear her gaze away as Makretia used her mouth to excite the orc.<br/><br/>She found it horribly fascinating in those few moments that she watched openly.  Fascinating and embarrassing because for the space of a heartbeat the shadow of jealousy darkened her heart.  Realization of what it was that she felt made Shaelee jerk away, pressing back against the wall behind her, and turn her face away from the sight of the orc’s enormous maleness.  Her cheeks flushed with her shame that she tried to hide by lowering her head, letting her hair fall over her face.<br/><br/>“You have her… you don’t need me,” she said softly, her voice slightly hoarse from being choked.  There was something else in her voice too, a pleading quality.  “What’s another dead elf to you?”<br/><br/>Before her was everything she had ever wanted, the very thing she had fought to have for herself when the elders decided that she would join the Order of Chandrelle and become a priestess and healer like her aunt.  She had begged then to be allowed to be a simple herbalist so that she might wed and serve a husband.  Of course she had dreamed of a broad shouldered and handsome elf warrior, not a monstrous orc, with which she would find love, pleasure and to whom she could bear children.  None of this was possible with an orc, so why could she not summon disgust for one that had had all that she desired not once but now twice?