Initiel An Untainted Girls Dirty Adventure V

Initiel had never seen mud that smelled of coins and secrets. It clung to the hem of her white dress as she stepped off the river barge, the fabric turning the color of old guilt. She’d been told the city of Kiln’s Ford was a place of honest trades—wool, tin, prayers. But the dockmaster’s grin had too many teeth, and the innkeeper’s wife polished glasses with a rag that looked like a torn petticoat.

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The whisper was a memory—not hers, but the house’s. A thousand previous girls, each “untainted,” each led to this same dusty board. They had left traces: a tear, a nail scratch, a single drop of something darker than blood. Initiel felt their shame and, oddly, their relief. But the dockmaster’s grin had too many teeth,