Fortune's Folly

I read for Nika today, the cards whispering of things I did not understand, though I’m certain she did. Her new house is quite beautiful, even in the drab backdrop of winter and was quite cheery inside with the warmth of fires burning.

I have seen Landra a couple of times and though I don’t feel the strain of our new.. relationship, I can see she does. I think being a slave was so much easier than it is to be free.

I haven’t been feeling well lately, though I can’t quite put my finger on what’s the matter with me. Perhaps it’s just the winter blues.

Seer

I saw it last night in my dreams.

Even though I don’t know what ‘it’ was.

Or maybe I didn’t see it, maybe I only felt it.

Changes are on the horizon yet again, for me, for those that I know, for a city drenched in blood.

I can not stop. I can not even speak of it.

But I can taste it..

Past, Present and Future

If one can indeed foretell the future, is that person also responsible for trying to change the outcome if it is horrific?

This is a question I ask myself over and over. If I know something bad is going to happen in someone’s life, have I not done my duty for telling them? Or does it not stop there? I often think my ability is more of a curse than a gift.

And yet I know I would be lost without it.

The cards have been calling out to me again, the way they do when something crucial is about to change, and I have been listening. The cards never lie.

The White Tarn Wing Inn

I have moved from the Garden District house to an inn. I am also the owner of many a beautiful garment, though I still say my inexpensive robes were quite serviceable, but he is apparently a man used to dressing women, so I broached no argument.

I also have a new name, one he has picked for me. Astraea, which means, star like, he telling me Fate was a slave’s name. I suppose he is right.

"I know that you have not been free long, but you can not be so soft this way my dear. You will end up in a collar and if I can not trust that you will take this seriously I will put you in a collar now. Is that what you desire?

Was it? No, I didn’t think so. Or maybe it was. All my life I had done the bidding of other's even when I was free. I had never gone against the wishes of my mother, my father, or later, either of the men that had owned me. I have always been a compliant woman, one that.. if not gleefully accepting the challenges that were laid out in front of me, then accepting them with a quiet compassion. Life has often passed me by, and like it or not, this was my chance at something.. better.

Too I was to choose a caste. I had always thought I would.. if ever freed, join the caste of entertainers. He told me absolutely not, that I would have to choose from one of the five high castes. I had chosen warrior. Again he refuted my choice, saying women of the warrior caste did nothing but walk around and breed. At least I would have gotten much exercise by.. walking.

He has chosen the caste of physicians for me and thinks that I should put my .. talents to work in that regard, though I can’t help but think he has other plans.

He made me kiss his cheek, I suppose this is what good wards do.

I have a lot to learn about freedom.

Irrefutable Offers

I had been on my way to the Garden District, and yes, my new rented home, when he came upon me, mistaking me for someone else in the hazy afterglow of the lamp lighters torch.

He took hold of my hand, turning me about, a cold touch that set me to tremble, before I removed it from his grasp. He apologized for his mistake, but the whispers in my head told me that it was not a mistake at all, that the demon that wore the mask of a man was plotting. It was Ruin.

I have, on occasion, wondered what happened to him, for now we have met thrice, though this time it was not a slave that knelt before him, but rather a free woman that stood in his path. Even if that free woman was yet unsure of her place. I did have the strongest urge to kneel.

He asked my name, whilst looping his arm in mine and dragging me off towards an alley cloaked in darkness. Too he wanted to know how I had become free and what had happened to Edicea.

My responses were quick, rapid fire sentences, I trying to give him as much information in as short a time as possible. My name was still Fate, Edicea had gone to live with cousins and I had been freed by proxy of Silas’ wish. My answers, however, were not fast enough, for before I could finish, he had dragged me down a stairway, motioning for me to enter a room that I could only assume was for storage.

"Fate is not a Free woman's name. But if you feel more comfortable being called that that is fine." I hadn’t objected to his unneeded observations. "I have to tell you Fate that it's not very difficult to tell that you are or have been a slave. Is it your desire for a Master once more?"

Twice in as many days I have been asked that question and I turned a thousand shades of red in response. I didn’t, did I? No, I was quite enjoying my freedom, I was sure of it. Damn Silas for doing this to me! "No, I .. I am.. enjoying my freedom."

"Good. Slaves are boring. I can hear from the jangle of your purse that you are doing well, but I will make you an offer. I would have you come and work for me. I would provide you safety from those who would chose to hurt or enslave you. Until you find a man who wishes to companion you, or a man who would buy you from me." He had offered me a seat at a table, one that I took despairingly, the quiet whispers in my head warning me to run. “I am sure you are thinking to yourself, why would someone need to buy you from me if you are free? It is because when you find a man who wishes to enslave you, you will submit to me. I will break you in. I will show you what it is to be a slave and then I will sell you."

Companion? What man in their right mind would companion a woman they could never bed? A woman that could not be touched, a woman with little worth in the eyes of the law.

"What exactly do you .. wish to hire me for?" What would a man like he want with a woman like me? What ever it was it couldn't be.... good. Nor did I think I truly had a choice in my answer, though he was answering my questions readily enough. It seemed that I, Fate, was caught in my own little bubble of destiny.

"What ever I desire you will do, without question." He moved to sit down across from me." I will tell you that you will be in danger, but it will be within reason. You will never be asked to remove your clothes and for the most part you will be required to care for my lady.

She has been attacked and lays ill in and inn. I unfortunately can not get to her without risking her life, so you will be our go between. In exchange I will grant you three wishes.. But only three. You may name when them when you are ready."

It sounded to me something from a children’s story, one my father used to tell my sisters and I when we were children.

"I have no wishes to make, just yet. Will you be paying me in coin as well? Or am I only to have wishes and nothing else?" I surprised even myself by my boldness. Maybe I was learning to be a free woman after all.

"You need coin from me? Is your lie telling not lucrative?" He shifted, tapping his nose and smiled.” I will give you a reasonable allowance and provide you a place to sleep and a guard."

Only then did he move and lower in front of me, eyeing me levelly. "If I ever catch you lying to me, if you ever betray me, if you ever do anything that is not without the full goodness of your heart I will torture you until the day that your body gives out. I do not ever want to have this conversation again. I want us to only speak of pleasant things, but in addition to your duties you will be trained."

I was trading one slavery for another, but neither did I feel I had a choice in.

"I do not lie, I never lie, I... Trained... how?"

"To be a free woman, to pass amongst all classes of people. You’ll be given your choice of caste and tutored in those ways. You’re agreement is for the duration of one turning at the end of which you will be free to make what ever life choices you wish. You will be given a trust fund. I think that this is more than far...what say you?"

I had to admit, it did have an appeal, but even so, I could not voice the words, instead, simply nodding my head.

"Speak your agreement. I do not except head nodding as you are in fact signing your life to me. I would hate for there to be a misunderstanding in regards to that, wouldn't you?"

And so it begins. I am owned, though not, which I find extremely confusing, but also extremely comforting. Indeed, I am an odd woman.

Looking for Work

I paid Lady Nika a visit last eve in hopes that she might have employment for me. Though she did not give me a job, she has granted me the use of her house in the Garden District. Ten percent of my earnings will go towards rent, the rest, I hope, I will be able to save.

I think I quite shocked her with my new status.

I wonder if I should change my name..

Old Acquaintances Renewed

It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.

Perelandra is back in Ar and I couldn’t be happier. She hasn’t changed at all and neither have her circumstances. She is still a slave and I .. am not.

Neither do I feel different about her, she is still the woman I call friend and I shall not allow a wedge to divide us, free from slave. I’ve missed her.

Freedom Rings

“You don’t belong here Fate, and this proves it.”

I was shocked. He had them all along, waiting till the very last possible ehn to give them to me. I was free, my collar removed.

How many times did I read them? How many times did I trace the outlines of his signature, one that I had never seen until today? Over and over until I could close my eyes and repeat the rence word for word. He had not abandoned me as I’d suspected. Was this to be my lesson after all?

I clutched the manumission papers emotionally to my breast and tried not to cry. I had been a slave for almost three en’var and now I was to be free. No, that was wrong, for I had been set free the day I found Silas’ collar. He had never treated me like a slave; he had always been good to me. He had allowed me more freedom than I had a right to and I had blossomed under his care. And now this.

The scroll stated that if he did not return within the course of one en’var, I was to be given my freedom, four silver and two garments. For the first time in my life, I am truly on my own.

Jaspin has been a good friend as well as an adamant teacher. He has made me realize that all things happen for a reason. Too, he assured me that Silas had cared for me, that he had wanted me to be safe and that he had expected me to do well. I have till the end of the hand to find another place to live before he boards the house up and moves on to join the sisters. He has warned me to always keep my manumission papers on me lest I fall prey again.

For once I can truly say with a sense of awe..

The butler did it.

The Invisible Virgin

He’s not coming back.

My future teeters precariously, balanced on little more than hope and the whispers of cards. They say he is gone, that he will not be returning, that this was how the string of life had mapped it, that it was never meant to be, that it was not the lesson I was to learn.

Most of the slaves have gone, with the sisters I assume and though Jaspin has remained for the time being, he too will be closing up the house and moving on. I’m not sure where this leaves me. Alone? Unowned? I still bear the collar of Silas, though the ruby colored stone that dangles beneath has darkened to an unattractive black.

I have searched for papers of manumission, or a bill of sale, but as of yet, I have found nothing. Most likely I shall not, for who bothers to will a slave? So what am I now to do? I could continue to hide in this house, as I have been doing for the past several months, but soon the food would run out and I would be forced to find me way regardless. I have the coppers that I have saved, none spent and could acquire more through the reading of cards, enough to eke out a comfortable, though not a resplendent existence.

I am saddened that he is gone, this man I have loved and lost, but if this was not my destiny, then I am not completely without further expectancy

Life Continues

Eight months since I’ve seen him.

The en’var of his ownership over me has come and gone, without a word. Not that a man such as he owes me, but I wonder as to his fate. Is he alive? Does he think about me? Does he miss me, even a little?

The cards have been unusually quiet, as if they are brooding a loss of their own, or perhaps this is just transference of my own feelings into the deck I so cherish. They want to tell me something about myself, but I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to know.

I’ve barely left the house at all the last several hands, or for that matter, his room. I sit on the balcony watching the road below, Glee occasionally coming to check on me, but even she cannot replace the gloomy abandonment with cheer.

I miss him.

Sacred Whispers

Fate. Not only is it my name, it is what depicts me.

I am a slave, a woman bound by collar, one that has always hovered on the fringe of slavedom, even when I was free. My destiny had never been a secret, a path set long ago, before my birth.

My life has yet been uneventful, my slavery an easy one. I am allowed many amenities and privileges, I am not ill treated and I love the man that owns me, and though he cares for me, I do not believe such is returned.

I am allowed to sleep on my Master’s couch, though mostly my company consists of only books, those that are scattered comfortingly about me like precious friends.

I am quiet and I keep mostly to myself, the saved coppers from my readings mine to do with as I wish, though I do not spend them. They are kept in a small jar atop the nightstand in Silas’s room.

The man who owns me is full of secrets, as is the House in which we live. There is a hunger in his eyes when he looks at me, but it is not the use of flesh he covets. It’s something more, something darker, a desire that neither of us has come to terms with. Not that it matters, I trust him completely.

He is the Ubar.

And then there is the other, the exact opposite of what I know, what I understand. So like the man that owns me, but not. This man I do not love, in fact he terrifies me, but somewhere within the transparent puppet’s string that links all mortals together there is a common bond. One perhaps I do not wish to know.

He is Ruin.

The City of Dust (Ruin)

For almost two years, I have been a slave. I have been owned by two and loved by neither. I have been obedient, I have been pleasant and though sometimes withdrawn, I have been safe. But what I have never been is truly frightened.

Fear is found in the form of man, ominous and overbearing. It has tasted me, it has taunted me and it has told me to beware.

I had gone to the cliffs, book of prose in hand, and found a rock to relax on. There were a few that mulled about, but one in particular drew my attention, the man I had seen Edicea talking to in the square.

Silas allows me many things, among them curiosity. It was with this emotion that I peered at him over the top of my book. There were, or so I thought, similarities between this man and my Master, though I wasn’t quite sure what.

After some time, he approached me, and I, being the ever so eager slave to please, removed myself from my rock to fall in towered posture at his feet. For reasons I can not relate, for they are a mystery to me, he seemed irritated at this fact, and hauled me back up to sit upon my perch.

He saw the cards, and questioned them, and though I asked him if he would like a reading, Past, Present and Future, I did not get the feeling this was his intent. In fact, his irritation seemed to bloom further. I thought he was done with me, turning away, but then I heard the command in his voice. I was to follow.

He led me along as he spoke, I forced to follow by the invisible tether that marked me as slave. "Let me tell you that the other day when I met your Master's sister I had a pulling in my heart... something familiar to me and now to find that you are teller of men's lives. I would think only a strange woman.. could insight such feelings as she did in me. And Only a strange woman could read the threads as you do with sad tats of paper"

His destination was an alley, one I thought to be riddled with unseen urts and things that would no doubt draw upon my nightmares, if I allowed my thoughts to wander.

"Do you wish to know my future?.. My past?"

I find that reading people is much like reading the cards. There are aura’s that surround them, be it benign or malevolent, be they free or slave, one that tells of the mortal coil within the abode. I felt, for some reason, that I should apologize. That perhaps in some way I had offended him. I think I did not, at this point, wish to know anything about him, but proper slave etiquette required I reply.

“If you wish to tell me, Master.”

"Are you so trapped in your bond to Sir Gein you have no desires of your own? I saw what you did... how you immediately went to your knees upon my approach.. tell me Fate.. is your fate to have nothing of your own not even your desires? Do you wish to know about me slave? Do you know of desires.. is that in your ... allowed vocabulary?"

I could feel it, the tangible tang of fear, metallic and distasteful on my tongue. I thought for an instant that I might be a dead slave girl within the space of the next several ihn, that Silas would find upon his return home, the demise of his slave in some disgusting alley. If I was even found.

I am a slave girl, a woman caught in collar’s command, one that would find death in disobedience. Of course I desired. But somehow I didn’t think we were talking about the same thing. He grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, he now so close I could feel the exchange of heat between us. So close I was not only touching him, I was breathing him.

"Tell me Fate.. do you desire to know about me? About why your Mistress sought me out? Do you desire to see what about me scares you...."

There are some things, knowledge’s and memories I purposely push away. Whispers within the House that I ignore. It’s a cold place without Silas, at times foreboding and dismal, a place of unrest. A nocturnal encampment of need. There is a hunger within the walls, one that never seems sated, and as I sit here reliving my experience, I suddenly realize why I had found he and my Master so similar.

His fist had entangled in my hair, violently turning my head to expose my neck. He tasted me, salty flesh and fear ebbing with every pulse, his tongue sliding across my skin.

I did not! I did not wish to know him, his desires or his future. My desire however was made quite clear. “I desire to be released!”

And to my surprise, he did, albeit a bit harshly. I fell to the cobbles, my hand reaching out to the ground for support. But not before he had taken one of the cards from the protected pouch at my side. As he disappeared into the throat of the dark alley, he was laughing, his words chilling.

His sister also reads, not by way of cards, but by trails blood and bowels. He said that she once tried to tell him his future and he nearly tore her to shreds. That a man’s secrets were his own. That I would do well to remember that. Only then, was my card, the one he had taken, returned to me, spinning on the breath of the wind and falling directly in front of me. The City of Dust, the card of Ruin, is one of the most negative and justifiably feared cards in all the deck, and one that had never been picked before.

I think in my haste to leave, somewhere, I dropped my precious book, the one I had bought with the coin Silas allowed me to keep. I am becoming quite adept at losing things.

I am becoming quite adept at many things…

Merci, Mercy

The longer I stay in collar, the odder free women seem to me.

I wonder if I was ever like them. Not that they are all bad. In fact, I have found, though many possess a certain amount of aloof horridness, others can be quite pleasant.

I met her in the falls and read her cards. I don’t believe she .. believed, for I could see the skepticism in her eye, the look of doubt on her face. But once I began, I could also see indecision, as if she thought that I might be, in some small way, tricking her. I don’t trick intentionally, I only relate what the cards tell me, albeit, sometimes they do make it hard to find the answers.

Sometimes my cards are surly.

Payment in Paper

Twice now, I have been given a book as payment for my readings. The first one was on dance, the second a book of poems.

Not only a book of poems, but a favored book from Nika’s libary. I’ve already read it twice and it now holds a special place on the small table in Silas’ room, near where I sleep. I shall read it again.

The Worst Kind of Fate

I sometimes forget the addiction, the want of knowledge, the tell tale signs of what the future will bring.

She comes to me often, her brow furrowed with the need to know, as if I am some sort of oracle that can make her life easier, as if I can bring peace to her surly existence. I can not.

I am merely a girl from the island of Cathris, a single soul trapped in her own realm of imprisonment, one cursed by her own blood to slavery for actions that took place before my birth. This is my reality. For me, there is no other. I still hold hope that someday, the curse will be broken and I will be free, allowed to companion, to bear children, to live the life I have been denied.

I am not complaining, for I realize how lucky I truly am. I am not beaten, or used in a harsh manner. Silas is generous with both my freedom and his coin. Though I am expected to obey, I am not bound by normal rules and if it were not for the collar about my neck, I probably wouldn’t always remember who or what I have become.

Of course, there are those who never fail to remind me of exactly what I am.

She said she had sent a letter to my owner for my purchase, wanted me to know that she had tried. I had taken this as a comment meant to put my mind at ease, she thinking perhaps I was ill treated and that she was doing a great service on my behalf.

Slaves should never assume.

She was offended that I, a mere slave, would have the audacity to believe she was worried about me, that she actually cared for my safety in any way. She told me that if I ever offended her in such a way again, that she would send a letter to my Master informing him of my impudence. She also said that if I was ever for sale, that she would be the first.. and the last to offer a price for me.

This does not worry me, however, for I know he will never sell me. To him I am more then a woman who can read the future for personal gain. I am more then a warm body that conforms to his own in the dark of the night. There is a bond between us, one bound by the collar I wear, one tied to the secret we share and I know I could never belong to another. At least not as completely as I belong to him. He is the man who makes the tattoo of my heart beat like a jungle drum. He is the man who drowns me in the soulfulness of his eyes when he looks at me. He is the man who finds fascination in the woman he owns and I will always love him. I think I would not leave him even if I was freed.

Thank the kings I belong to a man such as Silas, for now I understand belonging to a woman is the worst kind of fate.

The Butterfly

I am not immune.

I would have thought I was, to a certain extent, unable to find others attractive. It’s not a sexual trigger that draws me, but one of the mind.

It could be that I am simply more open to the magic of thoughts, the unraveling of destinies, but too, I think it is much more then that. When I do find someone that is truly interested in talking to me, I think it is a stimulation of the most important kind. It’s nice to have my opinion heard, though this is not something I volunteer unless asked.

Which brings me to today’s escapade.

I had ventured into one of the parks, as I do often, in hopes of finding Landra again. Instead of finding her though, I found another, a man unexpected.

I have been careful since the attempt by the trevian to take me, keeping my distance from those that I think may do me harm. But of course, as a slave, this is an impossible feat in most circumstances.

I had taken the book of poems with me that I had bought with the coin Silas allows me to keep, and found the perfect rock on which to perch. I was lingering fondly over one particular passage when he called for me, my book set aside so that I might serve him.

Usually when someone calls me into service, it is so that I may read for them, giving them glimpses into the past.. or most preferably, the future. I was already retracting the worn squares of rence from the safe keeping of their pouch, but hastily found myself re-pocketing them at his command.

He did not want a reading, he merely wished to talk.

Few free talk to me, other then wanting to purchase an ahn of my time for their own benefits. There are, of course, exceptions, but most times I am merely a way to a means. But he, he seemed to want nothing to do with the cards. No one has ever refused a reading before. I can’t say that I was discontent.

His caste was low, by the color of his garments, but they were well made and clean, he smelling of leather and soap. His hair was long and dark, pulled back and tied, his features almost hawkish in nature, but in no way severe, though it was his eyes that captivated me, green and bright and fringed with the longest eyelashes I believe I have ever seen. He hadn’t shaved in some days, his face over shadowed with a stubble of beard, his lips full and tempting, and I found myself staring at him without realizing it. For an instant, I wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those lips, to be taken within his warm embrace and held tightly. To be wanted, if just for an ihn.

He smiled, as if reading my thoughts, though I know this is quite impossible. But still, it was an eerie enough feeling to force me to drop my gaze from such mesmerizing scenery.

He had many questions, asking them one after another, sometimes pausing in between as he pondered and sometimes moving directly into another. My name, where I was from, who owned me, for how long and perhaps the most embarrassing, why I was still a white silk. That seems to be the question on every one’s mind these days.

I told him about the curse, my journey to Ar, my stay at the kennels, my first Master, Tony and Silas. All this time, while we talked, he sat on the upper crest of a rock, carving on a piece of wood, while I knelt before him. I’m not sure that he was truly interested in knowing my history, but that he was a collector of words, of stories, more to sate his own curiosity then anything.

He offered nothing of himself, no detail in which I would be allowed to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I knelt there, long after the conversation had seemed complete, though I was not dismissed. Instead, I quietly watched him work on the small block of wood, amazed at the outcome. It was a tiny, a perfectly formed butterfly, one that he handed out for me to take. A gift. No one has ever given me anything, not without wanting something in return. He said to keep it with me all the time, as a reminder, for some day my metamorphosis would be complete.

This small talisman now resides in the pouch that holds my deck and the coppers I acquire through the cards, safe.

A Day in the Square

I will miss him when he goes again, but having him home has been so nice. He took me shopping, of sorts, allowing me to choose something with the coin I’ve earned from doing the readings. I chose a small book of poetry, one that has obviously been read many times over, but then, those are the best loved books.

I have also promised him that I will try harder to get along with the other slaves, that I will succeed in closing the gap that lies between us. I realize, now more then ever, how important this is. For the last several nights I’ve gotten to sleep with him, curled at his side with my head on his chest. I can think of no better way I would like to spend my nights..

Too, I visited the inn, as I have been doing the last few hands, to read for Nika. The cards are quiet of late. Perhaps they are resting for something. They do that at times.

Mistress Nika allowed me to borrow a book from her library, which I will return in one hands time. I shall take very good care of it, another book of poetry.

Dreaming of Home

The lapping of the waves bathed my feet in such soft reverence and if I closed my eyes, I could feel a thousand tiny licks tickle at my toes. My heels dug into the wet sands, carving a small hole where ocean pooled. Lar torvis streamed downward in warming rays, creating small reflecting jeweled prisms where droplets on my flesh reigned.

I think have never been so content, so completely free of turmoil and so emotionally calmed. I knew that if I died at that precise ehn, that nothing could have made for a more perfect departure from this world.

Heavily fringed lids covered my eyes and I lay back into the cool escape of the sands, nestling into the silhouette my body had made. I shifted, first to the left and then to the right, something sharp poking me in the back, probably an errant stick or a shell. I wiggled and squirmed, trying to alleviate the uncomfortable entity from poking me, but to no avail.

I awoke with a moan, trying to dislodge the corner of one of the books I was laying on from my spine. It was hard to tell which book was the culprit, for in fact, there were many that shared my place of rest on Silas’ couch. Today, before I made my way back to Ar, I would at set the room to right.

When at last I gave up the search for the object that had awakened me from such a surreal existence, I moved to the window that over looked the courtyard below. Dawn’s gray knife was sluicing through darkened twilight skies and colliding with a pinpoint of magenta, one that would soon burst with heated hues of topaz, oranges and touches of copper.

I have come to realize though this is not the island home on which I have been raised, it is no less beautiful. Sunrises and sunsets hold a magic all their own across the land, but then, I’m sure that is true of any city.

Know it or not, I am home.

Absorbed

There are some things I do not dare relate within the pages of this journal; for fear that people will think me mad, should it ever be read.

Silas returned home after a three month absence, but I was most happy to see that he had been restored to me unscathed. I can’t even find the words to relate how relieved I was that he had made it back safe. But safe from where? He doesn’t tell me where he goes on these long sojourns and I do not ask, for I am just a slave and have no right to know. But I miss him none the less when he is gone.

He is, even now, still in his study downstairs as I write this by the sputtering, flickering glow of the candle’s flame, catching up on family matters and household trivia. Gillara has been sent off to stay with relatives and I find the house far too quiet in her absence.

He called for me immediately upon his arrival and I hurried down to meet him with all the eagerness one slave can possibly contain. He missed me! I could tell it by the look in his eyes.

Then he asked me the oddest question. If I trusted him. Does he not realize how devoted to him I am! Perhaps this was merely said for my benefit, for the small bruise I now display upon the base of my neck, the cost of lavish kisses and perpetual praise.

Tonight I was touched like never before. It was so intimate, so absolutely absorbing that I thought I would surely explode, shatter like a mirror into a myriad of tiny silver shards.

He needed me and I would be a fool if I didn’t admit to needing him as well. I will enjoy him while he is here, for I know that his business will take him away from me again soon. Tonight I will curl into a dreamless slumber at his side and forget what may come. Tonight I will be content.

The Book

It was a book I sought, one left at the springs by mistake, I having forgotten it amongst so many readings. I had read for a man, a Physician, and oddly enough, he had picked from my deck the Physician card. His reading went well, two coppers paid, and I had gone home for the night.

It wasn’t till morning I remembered the book, but by the time I got back to the springs, it was gone, much to my dismay.

I would have to tell Silas, when I saw him, that I had lost his book. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I found him again, the Physician. He is an odd man that speaks little and collects insects in little wire cages. He had me read for a slave. Master’s often have me read for slaves. He also told me he had my book and that the next time he saw me, he would see that it was returned.

On the third day I purposely sought him out, hoping to retrieve the book he had promised me he’d secured. I found him, just where I thought I might, near the edge of the lake collecting specimens. My book was returned to me, just as he had stated it would be, and all was going so well. The arrival of the slave from the previous evening was noted, a drunken man carrying her leash in the fist of his hand. The Physician had asked me to go see if the handler needed headache powders, so the book was set to the side, in lieu of performing this task.

There was immediately the sound of wings storming in the air above me, a tarn and rider. I had seen such before, but this one was different. I quickly hid within the cover of trees, but instead of flying over and past, the tarn landed.

I needed the book! While he was dismounting, I was heading back in the direction of what I had left and I could hear the Physician yelling for me to run. The tarnsman had thrown a spear at the book, but missed, and by the time I had realized this, he was already in pursuit of me. He yelled for me to stop, and in a way, I did, but I was only stopping to change direction. He could have the book! I ran as fast as I could into the cover of trees and hid.

Again I have lost the book

Circumstances

I’ve been spending much time at the parks of late, often taking a book with me to keep me company. I think I’ve about read everything Silas’s library has to offer. Soon I will be re-reading them.

My chores have been lightened, I no longer offering to do Silent’s work. This leaves me more time to explore myself, as well as the City I have come to love. Sometimes I even go to the great library, standing outside just so I can look at it, wondering what fascinating tales it holds within its walls.

Among other things, I have been paying closer attention when someone dances, trying to mold the movements to memory. I practice, a little, when no one else is around. Sometimes I feel so ungainly and awkward in motions that should flow smoothly and be graceful.

I’ve not seen my Master in two months, which means, I have my own room. His room. I like having my own place to go to, though I do miss sleeping at his side. I wonder if he misses me at all.

Hearing Bells

I think I should like to learn how to dance.

I’ve been watching the other slaves and I see no reason why I would not be able, with much practice, to move as they do. I never thought I would want to learn, but I guess this was spurned on by the night that Tony commanded me to dance. As terrified as I was at the prospect, I have to admit that it excited me as well.

I have no misgivings of my abilities. I will never be a great dancer, but I could, maybe, be a good dancer. Of course I would have to find someone to teach me, I don’t think watching is quite enough.

Who knows, maybe I could even earn a set of bells that jingle when I walk.

Counterfeit

I’ve escaped again, into the wide world of both free and slaves. I’ve stopped asking one of the others to accompany me in my sojourns, feeling it more of an imposition than a safety factor. After all, no one wanted me before I was brought here, I don’t see why that would have changed.

I haven’t seen Landra in quite some time, which leads me to believe she might have had a chance to go to the fair with her master. Perhaps next year I will be able to attend as well, since I’ve yet to make the pilgrimage.

I’ve been spending less time in the Gardens of Gein and more time in the Gardens of Ar. I long to see people, to be accepted into of the wealth of cordiality and to play a part in the drama of life. But for some reason, I seem unable to do this, for I am nothing more then a counterfeit coin, dull and lackluster, amongst those that glitter and shine with their confidence.

It’s not that I mind the solitude, mostly, for it gives me introspect into how I am perceived and how I should interact. I see how men act with others in collar and these girls I do not envy. I have no desire to find myself in a paga den or in the laps of those that see only what the body offers and not the mind.

But too I know I am subject to obey and what I want is not important, at least not in the grand scheme of things. I feel that I am being denied the all knowing secret that other’s are privy to.

An Interesting Liaison

I ventured out today, trying to relieve some of the boredom that even books can no longer contain. I met a man near the falls, or rather he met me, calling me to him. He took interest in my collar, as unusual as it is, but I think he was even more interested in the fact that I wore a belt, a rarity to be sure.

He wore the color of a peasant, but his speech and manner did not hold such, for he was well spoken and eloquent in his words. He asked me about my Master, how long I had been his, and about my previous Master as well. I think he was confused as to why I was still a virgin, after so long in the ownership of others. He must have thought there was something wrong with me. I too, was beginning to question that, but for very different reasons.

It’s always a trial to be the one left behind or the girl that wants so desperately to belong. I know I’m odd and do not fit in easily. I’ve even had some slaves look at me in mute horror, after my reading of the cards. They are frightened of me. Perhaps they are frightened of what I might tell them, if they dare to ask. There are those afraid of what the future holds. I can’t say that I blame them.

He sat quietly, watching me for some time. He knew I was studying him as well, though not so openly. He pointed to the cards at my side and when I explained what they were, he demanded a reading.

The Impaled man, an Ubar and the Assassin, a great change would befall him, but this he already knew. The man was not what he seemed. Someone else entirely lurked beneath the robes of brown, mystery, an enigma. The cards do not lie. I sometimes wish they did.

The Thunder Rolls

I watched it from a balcony on the upper most floor, the coming of the approaching storm.

Thunderheads rolled inward, indigo blue interspersed with taints of gray and the occasional touch of foamy white. The storm was long, stretching at least three pasangs, all the way to the walls of AR. They would feel the wrath of the mother as well.

I can only compare it to the sandy beach of my island, the waves that roiled inward towards shore and curled under amongst themselves, crashing into the rock break, a melody created within their muse. The air was alive with a current of electricity, locks of my hair lifting around my head in a haloed static impulse.

There was a time when I felt I was a part of nature, so closely attached to the island was I. I haven’t had that feeling since I left my beloved home, no longer in touch with the innocence it once brought me.

Pillars of lightening broke through the skies towards the ground, a glittering hail of sparks falling a nearby tree with a bestial sound, while the dance of tharlarions thundered over head. I wanted so much to embrace it, be apart of it, to feel it, to touch it, taste it.. to be the lightening rod from which it breathed.

Icy rain drops plummeted downward, thick and heavy, baptizing my body and promising me rebirth, but only if I accepted the gift offered.

I ache, but it is something I cannot explain. I have no physical malady, nothing that would keep me abed, but I know something is clearly wrong with me.

I haven’t touched the cards in over two hands, even though they call out for me to do so. They beg me, they plead with me, a constant echoing of whispers in the shell of my ear. But I cannot, because I am afraid of what they may reveal, the truth that may unfold. Perhaps they only call out to me to taunt me with the fact that I am not a special slave, only.. different. In the end, I know, though they may betray me, I will not, cannot resist.

Slave Wine

Glee had awoken me in her usual cheery mood, her chipper voice urging me to open my eyes. She was bearing a tray, upon it a glass, this offered to me to drink. I knew what it was immediately; I having already imbibed in such upon my being brought to Ar.

He has not touched me, made no move upon me that could be construed as carnal intent. I do no know if this relieves me, or somehow makes me feel inadequate. He is always gentle with me and he never raises his voice. He is not abusive, neither physically or emotionally, though he does tend to be distant.

I find I want to please him, I want him to know me completely and yet, I think deep down inside I am glad that he has yet to make his intentions known in that regard.

Am I desirable? Does he see me more then an object to own, an amusement to ponder? Has fate forced me to fall for the wrong man?

“We all take it at the same time, it’s easier to keep track of that way.”

She spoke, dragging me from my thoughts. It was this small sentence that spoke volumes. I had not been singled out to take it; there was no reason for me to drink other then the fact that I was now as easily kept track of as the others. It had not been his idea. It had not been requested by him. I would still be safe.

Safe. It is a word that I have not felt an affinity with for over a year. A slave is never safe, lorded over by the free, expected to be perfect in every respect. We are not soulless animals, regardless of what may be thought of us.

I think today I shall go in search of Landra, it’s been far too long since I have seen the slave girl and I miss her company, much preferring it over the slaves of this house. Of course I shall have to take a shadow with me. The one that smirks much and says little, Brawn. I shall ask if he would like to accompany me.

I am not a silly slave given to bouts of unneeded pretense.

I am not greedy girl, a wanton woman or a frivolous female.

I am not a belled beauty, a desired dancer or a pierced princess, as so many other slaves may lay claim to.

All these things I am not, so what does that leave that I am?

I am the essence of illusion, destiny’s doll, innocent and untouched, sent across the stars to new realizations.

I am the piece of the puzzle that always seems to escape to the floor unnoticed, a complex design of nature’s anomaly.

I am a riddle in the midst of mortals, a butterfly amid the Kings.

I am questionable.

I am flawed.

I am owned.

I am a telling fate.

Interspersed Realities

I slept soundly, a warm dreamless slumber brought on by the man that held me through the night. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until he was home again and I was allowed to wrap myself around him like a warm cocoon.

I have lived in his house and shared his couch for over a month now, and still I know so little about him. He is not open with his past and he shares no secrets. I think I am the only one not to know things, for the other slave often taunt me with hints, but tell me nothing.

I often find myself on edge when dusk comes, the house having no energy bulbs to light it, only candles and oil lamps to reflect the path when daylight is denied. It is eerie and unnerving and I jump at the slightest sound even though I have not been given a reason to be afraid. When darkness falls I retire to his room, light all the candles and tharlarion lamps I can find, and I have even been known to start a fire despite the heat of the night, for the sole reason it brings cheer to an otherwise dreary space.

In my explorations of the house, I have found that there is one door locked to me. When I asked Jaspin about it, he told me the door led to a lower level and that it was locked because the stairs were old and in need of repair. It was locked for reasons of safety. So why did I see Carry using the door? And Glee on another night? So many questions, so few answers. I’m beginning to think nothing is as it seems.

Forever Lost

It is the bane of a slave to love the man she is possessed by, even though he may only show her general warmth. I never thought to be a slave that would love, but then, despite my collar, I never thought to be a woman possessed so completely either.

My collar. Such has changed.

My outing to the falls, complete with Brawn’s shadow, had been a short one, Silas coming to claim me. He was back from his trip and he was bearing presents.

Our return to the house was a quiet one, though his orders were followed in hurried command. Sent to his chambers, those that I still share, he accompanying me.

His couch was littered with the books of my amusement, tomes that offered comfort in the darkness of a lonely night, only room for the outline of one sleeping slave. I hadn’t expected him back from his trip so quickly, but he seemed more amused then angry by the sight of his messy room.

I was ordered to kneel near the hearth; the box brought forth that held my fate. The ribbon about my throat was removed, that which would soon replace it brought forth from the box.

I had never dreamed that such beauty could exist in steel. Intricate was the delicate design, though the collar itself was thicker then others I’d seen. Dropped from the center of steel was a cage of gold, a brilliant red stone trapped within.

He told me I was to beg for his collar, but first I found the need embrace him. Instinctively my arms wrapped around his neck, my affection for the man that owned me shown. Now I would be the dutiful slave and beg.

I did something very uncharacteristic of me. Or at least I would have thought so less then a year ago. I submitted to him. I held my hands crossed over my head and begged to be his. It was a ritual that needed to be confirmed, a rite of passage that needed to be complete before I could truly belong to him. I begged for his collar, I begged for his deliverance, I begged to be whipped if I was ever the erring slave. I begged to be worthy, I begged to be kept until my last dying breath. I begged as a woman that needed a man. I begged as a slave that needed a Master.

The collar was set around my neck, the lock clicking in finality upon my throat. He kissed my flesh just above the collar and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me tighter against him.

He does not love me, I know, but he feels some sense of affection, some bit of tenderness and for now, it will have to be enough.

Folds of Silence

Learning the rules of the House and becoming familiar with my chores had taken up a great deal of my time. Too, I find myself lost in the sea of books when I’m not needed elsewhere, the library having become my sanctuary.

I have always found peace within the pages of books, be it the fanciful illusions of another’s life or the stoic revision of governmental laws. Even as a child I craved escape in this way, knowing the life that awaited me. Knowing a life I would never have. I find the musty smell of ancient rence comforting, a familiar scent that takes me back in time, that reminds me of my family. I wonder often how they are. This.. oddity I have with books makes me feel closer to them, as bizarre as that may sound.

My excursions beyond the estate are few and far between, my relationships with the other slaves still held on precarious ground, I, the new slave, not yet trusted. I’m not sure that I will ever be.

Favoritism is not always a symbol of acceptance.

The Waiting Hand

I am not allowed to leave the estate without an escort. Mostly this consists of Glee, though occasionally I am accompanied by one of the other slaves. The reasons for this, I assume, is so that those who watch over me can report back to Silas. I’m finding it quite uncomfortable to always have someone looking over my shoulder, watching my every move, waiting for me to make a mistake. I think they would enjoy seeing me punished. I shall try and not give them this opportunity.

I shall be allowed to sleep in the Master’s chambers indefinitely. He said the only time I will be refused the sanctuary of his room is when I am being disciplined.

There are times I catch him watching me, when he thinks I am unaware. His look an odd mixture of appreciation and.. hunger? He wants me, I can tell, and yet, he denies himself of me. Perhaps this is some strange ritual I’ve not heard of. Or perhaps he has no plans to ever touch me other then the contact of night’s sleepy embrace.

I have much yet to learn about being a personal slave to a man I desperately adore. The Waiting Hand is not easy.

Routines

I have settled into a rounded routine of chores, exploring and trying to make friends with the other slaves. The house, though large, is not as completely confusing as I had previously thought, though I have made it a point to stay away from the wing where his sisters, whom I’ve not yet met, reside in.

I still stay in his room at night, yet privileged to sleep on the rather large, ornate couch, though I’m sure this will change. I don’t think he expected me so quickly, hence I don’t think he knows quite what to do with me yet. The cards are beginning to speak to me again, perhaps forgiving me for my earlier diversions. Or perhaps they speak to me because I am yet pure of a man’s touch.

The other slaves still look at me as if I have some ill fated, incurable disease, all save Glee and even she can be unnerving at times. Jaspin has promised they will all warm up to me in time, though I’m unsure how much time it will take. In the meantime, I’ve tried to show them that I am more than willing to do my share, and more.

The Journey

"Set what you have brought from your past life upon the floor, and bring your hands behind your head."

All was removed, I now the naked slave, save the cold dark glitter of the key I yet wore about my neck and the virgin belt that still separated me from my unsure future. I bore no collar; I sported no lying veils of modesty. I was an owned bit of flesh with one purpose in life, to serve and please the man that owned me.

The man who owns me. Even now, as I write this, recanting the day’s events as best I can from beneath the pale glow of lamplight, I feel the familiar flush creep upon me. Even now I can feel the wild hammering of my heart at being the possession of such a man. I still do not understand what it is he sees in me or why he has chosen me from what I’m sure is a grand collection of very appealing slaves. I am more then not, too quiet, losing myself amongst the multitude of other collared chattel.

But he sees something within me others do not.

I am not a stupid slave, I know there are those that wished to own me for my ability of reading the cards, something I once wanted, but I now know that sort of ownership would have been hollow and without substance. He offers me so much more. He offers me growth and what he takes is so much less then what I receive in return.

When he looks at me I can feel the stirring echoes of something untapped, something intoxicatingly carnal and delicious.

I slept by his side last night, though he made no move to touch me other then allowing me to snuggle against him. When I awoke, he was gone, replaced by Glee who was smiling down at me, urging me to hurry and dress. My collar, for now, is a burgundy ribbon tied about my throat holding a tag that dangles downward, stating my ownership. My new garment is also of a burgundy hue, apparently my Master’s favorite color and one he wears often, while the other slaves wear a shade of blue.

The other slaves. I believe fitting in will be harder then I earlier anticipated. They tend to be very cliquish, save the Gleeful one.

I miss Perelandra. I’ve so much to tell her!

The Chosen

My sleep was laced with turmoil, my mind fighting the sands that held me captive. I was dreaming, standing on the edge of a cliff, the cards fluttering from my grasp and cascading into the deep chasm of an endless cavern below me. I was crying. I was empty and I was completely alone..

This morning I find I am a melancholy slave, a woman in chains who is very uncertain of what her future holds. What I think to be real constantly changes, morphing and mutating into something I don’t fully understand.

They are making me choose, the cards, their whispers less commanding and their truths more confusing. I have never been afraid as I am now. I never mourned my freedom, my purchase or the daily toils of a slave. But this, it is as if a piece of me is being ripped out. Through all my trials and tribulations, I have had the safely and security of the cards, cards that now seem to rebuke my choices.

He said he would want me, even with out my odd ability. He said it wouldn’t make a difference, but the cards whisper otherwise. They taunt me; they tease me with their mirthless meanings. They test me, daring me to let them go.

Though I had hoped to be sold, the decision was so quick and unexpected, I’m afraid I wasn’t at all prepared for it. I think I was still in shock by the time we came upon the estate, the thrall and I.

My first impression of the house was one of ominous overhang and I’m afraid I annoyed the male slave I was following because my pace grew weak so that I could stare. It was probably nothing more then the catch of lar torvis lingering just below the horizon which gave it its other worldly glow, darkly silhouetted against the tangerines and orange-ish hues of a rapidly receding day.

By the time we at last reached the back entrance, I was both out of breath and blinded by the light that was released from the open door, stepping back while my eyes adjusted. I was.. home.

Faces I remember, but names not so much, a slave named Glee spewing them out in rapid fire succession. Carry, Silent, Maid, Pain, Brawn and of course, Glee, slaves named by attitude or appearance. I was suddenly a scrutinized slave, one that had become the spicy entrée of an otherwise boring meal. They weren’t at all as I had expected them to be, though truly, I’m not sure what I expected.

Soon my scenery was changing, Glee taking me to meet the man that now owned me. I still couldn’t believe my luck, a man such as he wanting a slave such as me. Even Glee admitted to a bit of envy, I being the first personal slave she could remember him ever having, one picked by his own hand.

The gleeful one had pushed me through the door, already retreating into the candle lit passage as I crossed the threshold that would forever change me.

As I stepped over the blurred line between one world and into the next.

As I became, not one of the many, but one of the chosen.