Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
And I bite back a chuckle.
Eight
After the bathing incidents, things seem to change between us. The unspoken tension is gone. No one demands to be serviced or for me to flip my skirt up so they can fuck me. Instead, Neska and Ossev seem to retreat a step, as if content to wait for my affections to come naturally. Zaroun wants nothing more than affection and loving touches, so it’s easy to spend time with him. Now, when someone seeks me out, it no longer feels like a chore.
Living in the tower has started to become…enjoyable.
Zaroun and I make time to spend together every afternoon, with his head in my lap and just caressing and petting. We talk of nothing, but our time together seems to calm him. He gets a bath, too, and even though no one seems to want to bathe themselves, at least the stench of dust is gone. I braid Zaroun’s hair into intricate woven tails, and work on making a robe for him with a dark, embroidered trim to match his eyes.
Ossev is a simple one to please, too. He comes to me when I’m in the kitchens and asks questions about what I’m doing, what my plans are for the day, and what my food tastes like. He’s fascinated with everything, and so I try to describe each bite or action, thinking of what Neska told me in the past—that just because they see what is happening does not mean they comprehend it. If I mention I miss a particular fruit, or a flower, I’ll see a spider a few days later with a bundle for me, and know that Ossev is wooing me in his strange way with gifts.
Neska is the tricky one. He watches me at all times, sometimes, I suspect, even when I’m with the others. He does not ask anything of me. He doesn’t give me gifts. He simply observes with narrowed eyes, as if I’m a fly he hasn’t figured out how to swat just yet.
I try not to let it bother me.
Instead, I focus on making the tower my home, since I will be spending the rest of my days here. Ossev added a second door to my chamber, and a window. It is now light and airy, with a fresh breeze coming in whenever I like. It makes me feel less trapped to sit in the sunlight, and I love it. Now that I have a door and can leave whenever I please, I explore the tower a bit more. There’s a few additional chambers like mine—with doors, of course—like the one Faith and Aron stayed in. I leave those rooms alone since they don’t feel like they’re used unless there’s a visitor…and something tells me that even if there is one, I’m not going to be allowed near them. The Spidae are oddly possessive. I sweep the floor of the ramp clean of cobwebs, apologizing to the spiders as I do. I leave the walls alone, since I know they like to crawl all over them. I tidy the kitchen and spend a lot of time there, baking and cooking for myself. I’m dreadful at both, but I don’t mind it, even when my creations don’t turn out so well. I’ve only myself to please, after all.
The door to the outside is barred, and I haven’t asked to go out yet. I’m not a prisoner, but something tells me that they wouldn’t like me going out, either. It’s too early for me to push my boundaries with the three Spidae more than I already have, so I keep my rooms tidy and try not to think beyond the walls here.
“Bread is supposed to rise,” I tell Ossev as I work my dough on the counter. “I’m not sure why mine isn’t. I think bakers normally let theirs sit in the sunlight, but I don’t have a window down here.” I slap the dough down on the surface again, annoyed. It has the right sort of consistency for bread, I think, but it’s utterly flat. “Perhaps I should just make crisps instead of trying to make a loaf.”
“Crisps?” he asks, leaning in to stare at my wad of dough. He’s fascinated by baking and eating, perhaps because the Spidae do neither.
I nod. “Crisps are thin wedges that are baked. They snap and crack when you bend them. Bread is more pliable…and I wanted bread.” I turn the dough ball with my hands again and then pause, considering it. “Maybe if I add some seeds.”
“Why would you add seeds?” He reaches out one spidery finger and touches the dough, then rubs his fingertip thoughtfully. “It’s wet.”
“It is wet,” I agree. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe…”
I trail off because a shadow looms in the doorway. Neska is there, and his eyes narrow at the sight of myself and Ossev.