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.