Lisa quaked as she knelt on the slatted wooden mat, chest high, shoulders back, hands cuffed behind her back. The bricks she’d been ordered to place on her legs forced her shins deeper into the pointed tips of the triangle shaped strips of wood. Her Owner had last fed her days ago, and she was long past the point of caring about the magic ritual the two of them were engaged in. She liked magic, and held an interest in it on better days. When her Owner would indulge her with touch and strawberries and warm afternoons spent in the sun, holding her close while She explained the mechanics of all the things they’d done together. But those times were rare, and her Owner was always sure to remind her that those moments were a gift–not even a privilege since a privilege could be earned–and that they would be taken away at any moment.

Alone, in the dark for days now, unsure of the time, hypnotic programming rattling through her skull, she only longed for those moments harder. Longed for her Owner’s easy smile, her confident touch, for those eyes that spoke of mirth and approval. Longed for their rooftop garden, suffused with magic they’d accomplished together, with a view they’d earned with her Owner’s magic and her devoted suffering.

Of course that was romanticizing, as much as they both engaged in it. She was a possession just like anything else in the garden. And any accomplishments were her Owner’s, achieved through her and using her the same way She might use a piece of chalk.

She longed for those rare moments in the sun because there was little else to long for. During early rituals she’d longed for the aftercare, for the comforting touch that came after a difficult journey. Then she’d grown stronger, and her Owner had decided that it wasn’t always necessary anymore. And it hadn’t been. It had hurt. It had made her so incredibly sad. But her Owner was right. She knew how to self soothe, how to use her mantras, how to find peace in being the abused object of magic that she was. She was miserable, but she survived. And in that misery, that uncared-for hurt, her submission had bloomed. All throughout that longing for her Owner, that relentless need to give just a little bit more of herself, to push herself further past every new breaking point, that drive to earn just the tinies scrap of affection that was no longer guaranteed–all throughout it grew.

And when she couldn’t keep going, when she stumbled on her path of devoted suffering, her Owner–her Goddess–was there to catch her. She’d stroke her hair in just that way, or whisper the one perfect encouraging word, and she’d continue to crawl on. The barest hint of affection reminding her how hungry she was for that approval, for that praise, and how devoted she was to doing anything asked of her, anything inflicted on her, for just the slimmest chance of earning it.

Except for those days in the sun on the rooftop garden.

The wax candle hanging over her head dripped again, landing on her scalp with a splat. It was positioned directly over the side of her head her Owner had chosen to shave bare. A reminder that she was at best half a person. She was already covered in wax and it had started dripping on her back and shoulders. Worse, it had mostly covered her eyebrows, and this drop looked like it was going to fall down her face. 

When the hot wax hit her cheek something inside started to break. She’d felt the cracks in her psyche for days. The pain was a vise, crushing her. The hunger an acid on her insides, weakening her shell and sapping her internal strength. And each drip of wax was like another chisel blow into the cracks. For hours now the only thing holding her together had been devotion to her Owner and her Owner’s greater purpose. But now she was failing, she was coming apart, she was shatteri–

And then a warm body caught her from behind. Her Owner was there, holding her. Lisa was pressed firmly against her Owner’s chest as She used Her other hand to remove the bricks and drag her off the slats and into Her lap. And then She comforted her. “Shhhh, there you go, shhhh. It’s ok, the aqueduct is up, we’re done. You did so so good.”

A proper hug, a slight adjustment so she could curl more perfectly into Her embrace. And then, from the voice she would die a million painful deaths for, the rarest words of all.

“I love you, little pet. You’re so so precious to me.”