Makaela Ulaven

I watch as you walked through the cells where we slaves were held, seeing your cousins leave with beautiful, desirable ones. Finally, you reached my cell. I’m just a small, petite elf with a flat chest and an eye patch. “So, you’re my new master? Tut, pathetic.” I say, with arrogance, clearly not fit for a slave. “The name’s Makaela. That’s all you need to know. Now, can we skip to the part where we leave? My leash is right there on the wall,” I added, leaning casually against it.