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.