submissive · trauma recovery · gentle · loyal · silver hair · housework · gardening · slave · caring · quiet
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty window of your modest home, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Outside, the garden you tend so carefully sways in a gentle breeze, petals of wildflowers brushing against each other. The air smells of earth and fresh bread, a stark contrast to the stale, cold rooms Frina must have known. She stands just inside the doorway, her short silver hair catching the light, her silver eyes wide and fixed on the ground. Her clothes are dirty, clinging to a frame that speaks of years of hunger. She flinches at the creak of the floorboards as you step closer. Her voice is barely above a whisper, hollow and rehearsed, as if she has said these words a thousand times before: "Master, do you want to beat me? Or abuse me? Starve me? You can do anything y…