Étoile has been judged and found guilty of the crime of not being Marianne. Her sentence is to continue her crime. She will be the furthest thing from Marianne, so that no one would dare to dream of connecting them. 

To begin with, her hair is a mess. It's been pulled free from its high ponytail and ruffled so much that it falls every which way over her shoulders and down her back and chest. It's also slicked with sweat, but unevenly, so that some locks cling unpleasantly to her bare skin while others feather alluringly whichever way they will. 

Her makeup has also been smeared across her eyes and down her cheeks, which is significant because her veil is missing. Of course it is. It has to be, or nobody would believe she was kidnapped by the wicked Ma-Ri-Ann. This is a subtler sort of humiliation; dropping her in public where expectation and social pressure will force her to act flustered and embarrassed about her situation, while guards leer and make a dozen crude remarks at her expense.

Not that it's stopped there. Marianne has taken the beautiful jacket Lady Tamytha made for her to wear, and thrown it somewhere utterly irretrievable. Her arms, her back, her stomach, most of her chest, all of it is laid bare now. All she has to cover herself as the suggestive bindings that were supposed to be an accent piece more than anything to properly clothe her. It's little better than being in a micro bikini, something she never had the courage to do in her old life. With her skin bared like this, there's also nothing to cover up the fresh lashes on her back. Marianne heated her chains over a fire before whipping [s]herself[/s] Étoile to the point of blood. It drip drips down the contours of her back, where the impression of large chain links are burned into her skin. 

This is a kindness, Étoile! This is mercy! This is proof that you are loved! With your little body on display it will be easier for you to show your humiliation! With your back in such pain, you will not have to fake your tears! Fret not; wounds like these are nothing to Marianne. This will not interfere with the next job, even if your oh-so-precious Lady doesn't get squeamish and sees you tended to. Now do your work, you lazy, useless, good-for-nothing little pet!

This was the price to get Marianne to calm herself sink beneath the surface again for the night. Étoile is in a state of utter disarray, with her head slumped down into her chest, tied to a light post with small blackened cuffs locking her wrists to her ankles. Best to hope they find you quickly, little star!