A mouse emerges from the underbrush, quakes beneath the promise of my bulk, bares its fangs, hisses, and finds a convenient dark hole. The mistress dissolves into being, and captures all the sunlight to her. I have always wondered if the weight of the world is greater here in the mistress’s menagerie; it seems a thing she would do.
It had been my experience that whirlpools in the ocean could suck even the greatest of bodies to their doom. One does not disobey, not if they want their flesh to remain intact.
The mistress barely has control of this tongue of Drake’s silver fire.
The mistress strides through one of the many doors too large for her tall frame, but which do nothing for me.
The hiss of orimos sizzles away to nothing as she is swallowed by the dark. ” Riena palpates the package, a child guessing at the contents of a gift.
Eventually, all creation must assume into arrangements to please the mistress.
The mistress decides when we have seen enough, and tosses a package at Riena’s feet as if the contents and Riena’s hands are unworthy of her touch. I am having a guest for dinner, and I expect a complete sample by then.” Riena chooses well by picking up the package. Her guts have quickened, the stitches tightening in their neat seams.
The next, we occupy one of the myriad parlours set aside for entertaining guests in the mistress’s enclave. Tucked into a corner of the parlour, keeping as still as possible so as not to disturb the spindly furnishings, thick draperies, and thin skins of artworks scattered around like demons ready to eat my tail, it takes a lot of my small strength not to stare at the outside too long. The mistress waits, face as still as her terrible hands.