Somewhere in Regalith, Izara sat stiffly in her chair, her arms crossed as she watched the performance unfolding before her. The club was dimly lit, with flashes of colored lights sweeping over the stage where men twisted and danced in rhythmic motions. They wore nothing but tight G-string pants that barely covered anything, their sweat-covered bodies glistening under the glow.
The audience—mostly noblewomen and a few lingering men—cheered loudly, clapping their hands together as they threw money at the performers. Some women whistled and leaned forward eagerly, while others whispered amongst themselves, their eyes gleaming with excitement.
Izara, however, felt nothing but disgust.
Her nails dug into the fabric of her dress as she fought back the urge to look away.
