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Chapter 10 - Day's of a slave
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 21:00:02 +0000 UTC"Call me James," he corrected gently. His voice was soft, not demanding or harsh, but it carried a weight that made her look up at him. There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen in a long time—kindness.
James nodded to something his compagnon as said, his eyes still on her, filled with a mix of emotions she couldn't decipher. He didn't seem entirely sure of what he had done either, but there was a resolve there she couldn't ignore.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
She glanced up at him, her confusion deepening. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was an elf slave—people bought her for work, for punishment, for exploitation. They didn't buy her to set her free from that cage. She didn't know how to react, so she fell back on what she knew: obedience.
"Yes, Master… I mean, James," she stammered, lowering her gaze again.
The walk through the market felt surreal. Ofelia followed James and his friend in silence, her mind spinning with questions she didn't dare ask. Why had he bought her? What did he want from her? She couldn't bring herself to believe that he had no ulterior motive. In her experience, kindness always came with a price.
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Ofelia kept her eyes trained on the ground as they approached the shops. Even when her new master had bought clothe for her, she did not react much, a little surprise that's all. After that the clang of metal and the chatter of voices surrounded her, but she felt detached from it all. Her world had narrowed to a small, dark space within her own mind, where the only certainty was the fear that lingered from her time in captivity. Her master was talking to people that's all.
James's voice broke through her thoughts. "Can you equip Ofelia as well?" he asked the shopkeepers.
Her head snapped up in surprise. He knew her name? Equip her? He wanted her armed? That wasn't normal. Slaves didn't get to wear weapons. They weren't supposed to defend themselves—they were supposed to obey, to serve without question.
The female merchant, Mira, looked skeptical. "You want us to equip her? An elf slave?"
Ofelia flinched at the tone, the familiar disdain cutting through her like a knife. She waited for the inevitable refusal, for James to agree and move on. But he didn't.
"I understand," James replied, his voice steady. "But she's with me now. I want her to be able to defend herself if it comes to that. It's better to be safe than sorry."
Ofelia's eyes widened slightly. He was insisting. He truly wanted her to be armed. It didn't make sense. The shopkeepers exchanged skeptical glances, clearly reluctant, but when his captain friend, stepped in to support James's decision, they finally relented.
Mira handed over a small iron dagger, its blade plain but sharp. Ofelia hesitated before taking it, her hands trembling. She glanced up at James, searching his face for any sign of deception, but found none. He was watching her with a gentle, almost encouraging expression.
Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, and she strapped it to her belt with shaky hands. It felt strange—empowering yet terrifying at the same time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd held a weapon. The sensation was foreign, almost like touching something forbidden.
Redan, the other merchant, handed her a simple leather vest and gloves. "It's not much," he grumbled. "But it's better than nothing."
"Here, try putting these pieces of gear on," he said softly. "It's for your protection."
Ofelia accepted the gear, still bewildered. She slipped on the vest, feeling its unfamiliar weight against her thin frame. The gloves were too big, but she pulled them on anyway, her movements stiff and awkward. As she adjusted the gear, she noticed James watching her with a look she couldn't quite decipher—something between concern and resolve.
"Thank you, Master," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
James flinched slightly at the title. "Call me James," he corrected again, though his tone was softer this time. "You don't need to call me that."
Ofelia nodded, but the word still lingered on her tongue. It was hard to break the habit, hard to believe that he truly didn't want to be addressed as her master. It felt like a trap, like a test she was bound to fail.
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By the time they reached the inn, exhaustion was settling into Ofelia's bones. The day had been overwhelming, and her mind felt like a tangled mess of fear, confusion, and the tiniest flicker of something she didn't dare name: hope.
When the innkeeper, Marlin, offered them only one room, she braced herself for what would come next for him to say that the slave would sleep in the stable or sleep on the floor. But it could be even worse, her heart sank as she realized they'd have to share a bed, it would mean that, right. It wasn't her place to protest, though, so she simply lowered her head, waiting for James's response.
To her surprise, he seemed just as uncomfortable with the idea. "If you'd prefer, I can sleep on the floor," he offered.
The words hit her like a shovel to the face. He was willing to sleep on the floor—for her? Ofelia couldn't wrap her mind around it. She shook her head quickly, her eyes wide with panic. "No, please, Master—James. You shouldn't sleep on the ground. I can take the floor. I'm used to it."
James frowned, clearly unhappy with her response. "You don't have to do that. You deserve to be comfortable too."
Ofelia bit her lip, her hands clenching into fists. Why was he making this so difficult? Didn't he understand? She couldn't let him sleep on the floor, he was the Master. It went against everything she'd been taught, everything she knew. It felt wrong.
Filled with determination as I stood up, I finally said it, as I would surelly regret it :"No, I won't allow it. You saved me from the mines. It's not right for you to sleep on the floor. We can... we can share it. "
James sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked frustrated, but not with her—more like he was fighting an invisible battle with himself. After a long pause, he finally gave in. "Alright. We can share the bed. But we'll each stay on our own side, okay?"
She nodded quickly, relieved that he almost promised to stay on his side by himself, relieved that the argument was over. "Yes, James. Thank you."
They settled into the room, and Marlin brought up hot water and cloths for washing. Ofelia washed up first at her master's request, savoring the rare luxury of clean, warm water. As she scrubbed away the dirt and grime from her skin, she felt lighter—almost as if she were shedding a layer of her past. After drying herself, she put on the new undergarments and clothes her master had bought for her.
When she stepped out, her hair damp and her new clothes fitting a bit more comfortably, she caught James staring at her. He quickly looked away, but not before she saw the surprise in his eyes.
"You look different," he murmured, almost to himself. "You look… pretty."
The word startled her. Pretty. She knew of her beauty it was a trait of her race. But his tone... it was something she hadn't heard in a long time, something she'd never thought she'd hear again, since being kick out of the elf village. She lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Thank you," she whispered, unsure of what else to say.
They ate in silence, the food simple but filling. Ofelia savored every bite, her stomach grateful for the warmth of the stew. She kept sneaking glances at James, still trying to make sense of him. He was kind—too kind. It made her uneasy. She couldn't help but wonder when the other shoe would drop.
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When they finally lay down to sleep, Ofelia stayed rigid on her side of the bed, careful not to cross the invisible line she'd drawn between them. She didn't want to invade his space, didn't want to give him any reason to regret his decision to buy her or to give him a raison to pounce on her.
But as the darkness closed in, the familiar weight of fear settled over her chest. The room was too quiet, too still. Memories clawed their way to the surface—rough hands grabbing her, mocking laughter, the rope biting into her skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but the memories surged forward, relentless. The fear she'd carried for so long rose like a tide, pulling her under. She felt herself slipping back into the dark places of her mind, the places she'd tried so hard to escape.
In her sleep, she whimpered, her body curling in on itself. She could feel the rope again, hear the cruel laughter of the bandits who had captured her. Their voices echoed in her ears, taunting her, reminding her of her helplessness. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she twisted and turned, trapped in the nightmare.
And then, something changed.
A soft voice cut through the darkness. It was calm, gentle, unlike the harsh voices that haunted her dreams. "Hey, it's okay," the voice whispered. "You're safe now. It's just a dream."
Ofelia's breathing hitched, but the sound of his voice seemed to reach her even in the depths of her nightmare. It was like a lifeline, pulling her out of the darkness. She felt a hand on her shoulder, warm and reassuring, not rough or demanding like she was used to. It was a kind touch, careful and patient.
"It's okay," the voice repeated. "You're not alone anymore. I'm here."
Gradually, the fear began to move away. The images of her captors faded, replaced by a warmth she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. Her body stopped trembling, her breathing evened out, and she drifted into a deeper, more restful sleep.
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The first thing Ofelia became aware of was warmth. It enveloped her like a soft blanket, making her feel safe in a way she hadn't felt in years. She nuzzled closer into it, sighing contentedly, half-asleep as she burrowed her face into the softness.
For a moment, she let herself believe that everything was okay. The fear and pain that usually haunted her seemed distant, replaced by a rare feeling of comfort. The rise and fall beneath her cheek was soothing, and she realized she was pressed up against James's chest, her arms wrapped around his torso, her leg draped over his.
It felt… good.
The thought startled her awake. Her eyes flew open, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized just how close she was to him. Before she could react, something soft landed on her head—a pillow.
She flinched violently, jerking back as if she'd been struck. Her instincts kicked in before her rational mind could catch up. She pulled away from him as fast as she could, scrambling to the edge of the bed. Her heart raced, and she pressed herself against the corner, lowering her head submissively.
He's going to be mad. I shouldn't have been so close. I must have done something wrong.
"S-Sorry, Master," she stammered, her voice trembling with fear. "I didn't mean to—I'm sorry, please don't be mad."
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the reprimand she was sure would come. Her hands clenched the fabric of her shirt tightly, her entire body tense and shaking.
Instead, there was silence. Then, a soft chuckle.
"Hey, no—Ofelia, it's okay," James said gently. "I'm not mad. It was my mistake. I was testing my skill, and I dropped the pillow on you by accident."
Ofelia's eyes fluttered open, filled with disbelief. She glanced up at him, expecting to see anger or annoyance, but instead, she found his eyes full of warmth and concern. He wasn't scowling or shouting. He was smiling softly, almost apologetically.
"You're… really not upset?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
James shook his head, the kind smile never leaving his face. "No, I'm not upset. I'm just sorry I scared you. I promise it won't happen again."
She swallowed hard, trying to understand why he was being so gentle with her. It didn't make sense. She was used to punishment, to harsh words or worse. But here he was, treating her as if her fear mattered, as if her comfort was important to him.
"I… I understand," she managed, though her hands still trembled slightly. "Thank you, Master."
James flinched at the title, and she could see the discomfort in his expression. He reached out slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder. This time, she didn't flinch away, though she couldn't stop herself from tensing.
"Call me James," he said softly. "You don't have to be afraid of me. You did nothing wrong."
She nodded, almost mechanically, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—perhaps the smallest hint of relief, a tiny spark of hope she hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling back, leaning against the headboard with a sigh. "Alright, let's try and start the day again," he said with a small, playful smile. "I think we've had enough excitement for our first morning together, don't you?"
Ofelia hesitated, then allowed herself a tiny smile, the tension in her body easing just a little. "Yes, James," she whispered, her voice softer now, almost fragile.
She didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe—just maybe—there was a chance things could be different. And as she watched him, she realized she wanted to believe in that chance, no matter how small it seemed.
