I think he is only a dream, one caught in the throes of slumber, for though I have imagined him, I have yet to meet him. I am bought and paid for, owned by a man I’ve never seen. I am still kenneled by the city, I still sleep on a mat and I still listen to the snores of others. I still wear the collar of a city slave and I still wear the roughness of rence against my skin.
Some days I am allowed to leave with a small group of other girls, we watched over by one of the guards ensuring our safe return.
No one has even told me his name. The free tell slaves little.
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