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"You're not wearing the jewelry I gave you."
She doesn't even deign turning around when she hears his smooth, deep voice behind her. She knows what she'll see will revolt her. "You mean the jewelry your servant gave me," she corrects him. "How rude of you to not even meet your concubine face to face when you choose her in the first place."
"Concubine," he repeats, and she hears the sound of bare feet and the rustling of heavy fabric drawing closer, "I dislike that term." He pauses on her way to her, and she can hear the clinking sound of jewelry being picked up. He closes the gap between them and she feels him brush her hair away from the back of her neck. Next, she sees a pair of large hands, heavy with golden jewelry, bring a necklace to her neck; he fastens it behind her neck. "I prefer matesprit."
In between the mild surprise and twisted amusement from hearing those words and the disgust from seeing the necklace had a pendant of his symbol on it, she wasn't immediately sure what to say. "You say that," she manages after a pause, "yet you're putting a collar on me like I'm a pet. A possession." She glances over at the remaining jewelry on the table. "Those bracelets are no better than shackles."
He scoffs softly. "Isn't that what you are?" He puts his hands on her shoulders, and she feels small in his grip. He leans closer and murmurs into her ear. "Mine, that is."
Involuntarily, a shiver runs down her spine. His touch is cold, but his voice is so smooth. She grits her teeth and wonders how long she'll have to endure this for - how long her life will last from this point on. Idly, she ponders the possibility of finding a knife and impaling herself on it, but that wouldn't do; she still had so much left to do. She had to find her friends and release them.
"Hm, no counter?" he ponders aloud. "I know you revile me," he says, and his hands slowly slide down her arms, as his voice drops to a whisper. "But perhaps I can change your mind." Slowly, he leans down and plants a cold kiss on her shoulder.
She doesn't even deign turning around when she hears his smooth, deep voice behind her. She knows what she'll see will revolt her. "You mean the jewelry your servant gave me," she corrects him. "How rude of you to not even meet your concubine face to face when you choose her in the first place."
"Concubine," he repeats, and she hears the sound of bare feet and the rustling of heavy fabric drawing closer, "I dislike that term." He pauses on her way to her, and she can hear the clinking sound of jewelry being picked up. He closes the gap between them and she feels him brush her hair away from the back of her neck. Next, she sees a pair of large hands, heavy with golden jewelry, bring a necklace to her neck; he fastens it behind her neck. "I prefer matesprit."
In between the mild surprise and twisted amusement from hearing those words and the disgust from seeing the necklace had a pendant of his symbol on it, she wasn't immediately sure what to say. "You say that," she manages after a pause, "yet you're putting a collar on me like I'm a pet. A possession." She glances over at the remaining jewelry on the table. "Those bracelets are no better than shackles."
He scoffs softly. "Isn't that what you are?" He puts his hands on her shoulders, and she feels small in his grip. He leans closer and murmurs into her ear. "Mine, that is."
Involuntarily, a shiver runs down her spine. His touch is cold, but his voice is so smooth. She grits her teeth and wonders how long she'll have to endure this for - how long her life will last from this point on. Idly, she ponders the possibility of finding a knife and impaling herself on it, but that wouldn't do; she still had so much left to do. She had to find her friends and release them.
"Hm, no counter?" he ponders aloud. "I know you revile me," he says, and his hands slowly slide down her arms, as his voice drops to a whisper. "But perhaps I can change your mind." Slowly, he leans down and plants a cold kiss on her shoulder.