[ It'd be a stretch to say she's settled into the Mors King's domain but as the days she's been here have turned into weeks, she's found herself getting used to it. Things are quiet, here - if there are any other subjects save the Mors King himself and the beasts that serve him, she hasn't seen hide nor hair of them. In a way, it's a relief - it means no prying eyes to serve as witnesses and whisper behind her back, nobody to take tales of her back to Fragaria. There's no work to do, no obligations to fulfill... aside from the one that she's already given herself to. In some ways, it's a welcome respite but there's a part of her that feels restless and dissatisfied with no duties to perform.
And at the end of each day, she spends her nights in the Mors King's bed. They've settled into a strange, uneasy sort of routine. Each night, he anchors her against him and makes a show of exploring her body with his hands. He'll hold her so tight that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest behind her, the heat of his body bleeding through the thin fabric of her shift - and every night, he'll go no further than he had that first night, his hands always stopping just shy of actually defiling her. At first, she'd been terribly confused and off-balance. She had offered herself, the Mors King had seemed eager enough to take what she offered... but in the end, he hadn't done anything but tease and tantalize. The threat of his hands tracing over her skin, of his claws scraping gently against her body, was a constant reminder of what he could do if he wanted to but...
In the end, she comes to understand it as some sort of test. To see how true she is to her word that her body is his to use as he pleases or how far he might have to push her before she protests. And so she doesn't resist or fight him. She stays as pliant and yielding as he demands, not even flinching at the brush of his claws or the threat of his presence. And so she remains untouched - and so does Fragaria. ]
Is there really nothing else I can do?
[ It's a dull morning on her second - or maybe third - week at the castle when she approaches with her question. The light in the windows is always sallow, the sickly yellow of an overcast sunset, but she's yet to see a drop of rain or a hint of sunlight. The land here is sickly too, she thinks - and as Saintess, she has some responsibility to do something about it, even if this isn't her land. ]
You said you had all the servants you need but... there must be some sort of chore I can do, something useful that you can assign to me. I'm here for you to use however you please.
no subject
And at the end of each day, she spends her nights in the Mors King's bed. They've settled into a strange, uneasy sort of routine. Each night, he anchors her against him and makes a show of exploring her body with his hands. He'll hold her so tight that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest behind her, the heat of his body bleeding through the thin fabric of her shift - and every night, he'll go no further than he had that first night, his hands always stopping just shy of actually defiling her. At first, she'd been terribly confused and off-balance. She had offered herself, the Mors King had seemed eager enough to take what she offered... but in the end, he hadn't done anything but tease and tantalize. The threat of his hands tracing over her skin, of his claws scraping gently against her body, was a constant reminder of what he could do if he wanted to but...
In the end, she comes to understand it as some sort of test. To see how true she is to her word that her body is his to use as he pleases or how far he might have to push her before she protests. And so she doesn't resist or fight him. She stays as pliant and yielding as he demands, not even flinching at the brush of his claws or the threat of his presence. And so she remains untouched - and so does Fragaria. ]
Is there really nothing else I can do?
[ It's a dull morning on her second - or maybe third - week at the castle when she approaches with her question. The light in the windows is always sallow, the sickly yellow of an overcast sunset, but she's yet to see a drop of rain or a hint of sunlight. The land here is sickly too, she thinks - and as Saintess, she has some responsibility to do something about it, even if this isn't her land. ]
You said you had all the servants you need but... there must be some sort of chore I can do, something useful that you can assign to me. I'm here for you to use however you please.