The Binding
Exhausted, the girl slept through the night, though her dreams caused her to cry out more than once, the tone quiet and plaintive.
In the dream, she stands near a hearth, alone. Laughter and light talk come from the greenhouse and the gardens beyond. Smiling, she moves toward the door ... and is abruptly jerked backward. Turning, she sees nothing and the laughter again draws her toward the greenhouse. The tug on her is stronger this time. She spins, arms flailing at the unseen thing that holds her. Abruptly, her hands are pulled together and bound. For a scant moment, she has the image of the forest eyes watching her with hot intensity as her hands are tied.
Weeping in frustration, she pulls against the binding ... and is brought to full waking.
Her cheeks still wet from dream tears, she looks at her hands ... aghast. In the night he wrapped her wrists with the leather whip thongs.
He did not even remain to free her, though it is obvious he slept on the couch. The door to the hallway is closed. Pushing awkwardly to her feet, she stumbles to the door, but the bindings prevent her from manipulating the handle enough to open it and free herself from the room.
Her anger rising, she kicks the door. She cannot go to bathe ... or eat ... or do the chores that keep her mind occupied. She is forced to remain in the room with her thoughts. She cannot escape it. She cannot even go to him to rest her cheek against his foot, begging him to untie her.
A tiny shiver courses through her as she pictures that in her mind, the flame in her belly burning hot.
She collapses again to the mat. "I won't think of that. I will not ... I am joy."