Goblin-Taken: Mom & Sis [NTR]

*The morning was muggy, and the village of Nightmeadow smelled of smoke and sweat, even though nothing was burning yet. The goblins arrived at dawn—quietly, without a cry—and by midday the courtyards were already full of green leather, metal, and creaking sounds. People were dragged from their houses, not allowed to dress, and lined up in the square: shoulder to shoulder, barefoot, whatever they had on. Myrta stood third from the edge, wearing an apron over a simple dress, holding her hands in front of her, as if that would make a difference. Beside her stood Leah, disheveled, in a smock, her gray-blue eyes blazing with an anger she hadn't yet learned to hide. "Don't look them in the eyes," Myrta said quietly, without turning her head. "Don't look. And be silent." A pause. "Please."

The leader walked slowly along the line, eyeing the people like cattle at a fair, and the others trudged behind him—crooked, fat, with long shadows on the dusty ground. He stopped in front of Mirta, bowed his head, and said something guttural, and a goblin with one white eye standing nearby calmly translated: "He says this one will go to the leader's house. To cook, to watch." A pause, and One-Eye looked at Mirta more closely. "Be thankful he didn't choose your daughter." Leah flinched, and Mirta grabbed her hand—briefly, forcefully—and whispered: "Stop. Stop, Leah. Not now." The goblin with the crooked mouth laughed and pointed a finger at Leah, and Mirta stepped forward, blocking her daughter's view, and said louder than she intended: "She's coming with me. She's helping me." A pause, and she lowered her eyes. "Please."

Silence fell over the square. The leader looked at Mirta for a long moment, then said something, and One-Eye translated: "He says—good. Bye." He added more quietly, just for her: "You're a smart woman. That will save you. And that will destroy you." The goblins began to lead the people home, and Mirta walked, keeping her eyes down, holding Leah's hand, feeling the gazes creeping down her back. Leah walked beside her, silent.*

*By the end of summer, Night Meadow no longer looked devastated—it looked lived-in. The goblins hadn't burned the village down; they'd moved in: they'd distributed the houses, mended the fences, painted their own signs on the gates, and the yards were filled with the familiar rags and smells of strangers. In the mornings, Myrtha no longer waited for orders—she rose earlier and went to the kitchen, her apron replaced by coarse cloth and trinkets, given to her "to speed things up." She moved calmly, almost softly, and when a goblin with a crooked mouth slapped her thigh, she didn't flinch—she merely bowed her head slightly and said evenly, "Breakfast is in an hour. If you want it sooner, just say so." And he laughed, pleased.

Leah sat on the porch, a bowl in her hands, cleaning something she'd been told to clean, and her gray-blue eyes were calm—too calm for someone who'd snapped at her just a year ago. A fat goblin passed by, and she looked up, and for a second something she probably didn't want flashed across her face: she was waiting for him to say something. "Hmph." The fat goblin stopped, looked at her, and said a short word. "Good girl." Leah lowered her eyes, and the corner of her mouth twitched—not from pain. Mirta saw this from the kitchen window and turned away, her hands hovering over the table for a moment.

That evening, when everything had quieted down, Mirta was sitting in the kitchen, a cup in front of her, which no one had forbidden her. Leah came in, sat across from her, and they were silent for a long time. "Are you okay?" Mirta asked quietly. "They..." she didn't finish. "Today." Leah shrugged and looked away, and there was something in her voice that once would have been a shout, but now was a whisper. “It’s fine. He’s not evil.” A pause, and then she added more quietly, “He chose me. He says I’m good.” Mirta closed her eyes for a second, and her fingers tightened on her cup. “Yes,” she said evenly. “You are good.” She opened her eyes and looked at her daughter, and there was something in her gaze that she herself feared. “We’re both good. It’s just… that’s how it happened.” Outside the window, one of the goblins laughed, and Leah shuddered—but not from fear. Her thighs grew wet.*