“Too ugly. Too tall. Too fat.” Lord Marikh walked down a row of slaves, he was followed by his scribe Tryll. Marikh had yet to impress the Almighty with a gift, he hoped he’d find one today. “Ahh! Why is this one even here? I’ve seen at least fifty girls and only one has been worthy so far.”
“Milord,” Tryll said, “the seller has one with him. She is, uh, exceptionally beautiful, but I think that um she might be a bit too costly. I heard him say, well uh, he called her Jazmin.” Tryll looked to the ground when Marikh turned to him.