It is interesting to consider the depth of the training offered in the slave academies of Th'orqui. Even under the influence of an illness that left her bloodthirsty and angry, when it came time for her to act on her feelings, she had been assuaged by memories, overtaken by the training that had told her for so long that she was to be meek and powerless, that she was to be at the mercy of her superiors. She was nothing, no one; she was but a humble servant, destined to spend her life at the feet of those who would claim her. She had no name, or had she forgotten? Kaiylia was the name given to her by her first masters, nothing more. She had been renamed many times since, and prior to that she had been known by only the serial number still stamped into the gold bracelet that she wore. Of course, the trinket also held her given name, and an inscription proving that not all masters were bad masters, but there you are.

She cannot smell her own, decomposing body, but if she could, she would flinch away from the stench, her eyes rolling, whites showing with fear. Of all the emotions that had been beaten out of her system, of every feeling she had learned to push deep down and hide, death brings out something in her that she cannot hold in. And she smells like death. She looks like death. By all rights, she should be dead now, what with the amount of blood and flesh she has lost to her surroundings. She would weep, if she felt it; but she does not feel anything anymore. Not physically, anyway. The curse that has befallen her has given her that gift, at least. Hatred still bubbles in her breast, but it is a petty thing now, blocked by the training that had taught her to bow to the likes of this stallion. A part of her longs to rip out his throat, but mostly, she just wants him to kill her, or tell her what she is supposed to do. Either way, she will no longer be in this miserable state of existence.

"Get up," he says, the command harsh and grating. She shudders, remembering the touch of another stallion whose voice had been similar to that, and heaves herself to her feet, resisting the urge to move away from the unicorn. She stares at him, her orbs betraying no emotion (except perhaps some kind of suspicion), waiting for the blow that she has come to expect. A part of her feels like a disappointment, for he regards her as though she has done something wrong. To be fair, she makes a poor wraith; should she attack him again? Is that what he wants? Her mind is cloudy, and she hesitates, shifting her weight from side to side, trying to decide what she should do - what he wants her to do.

"Talking"

Kaiylia