Being an artist meant to be observant of people, how they move, every detail of their bodies. So she catch up quite easily when he show unpleased with her questions. Tensing a little, she looked to her half-eaten dinner, fully knowing the last thing she wanted was a displeased Richard. He can be kind as he can be cruel. Twisting the end of the cloth napkin on her lap, she nodded as he talked, and she felt the collar on her neck tighten, the tattoo on her wrist heavy and painful once again.

“I’m sorry Richard, I forgot my place,” she said weakly, biting slightly her lower lip, how foolishly she was for forgetting for a moment she was only a slave, a possession of his. That he liked to dote on her wasn’t a sign he saw her as a person or respected as one, she was foolish for believing even a second. Taking the glass of wine, ignoring the slight tremble on her hand, she took a sip, the bittersweet of the drink did nothing to calm her nerves.