|he was never really mine|

(Okay omfg, I just wrote a whole damn paragraph IN FIRST PERSON. FUDGE.)

Azalea was afraid to move. She still sat on the high stool, casting her eyes down. She was afraid to watch her master work his way through the kitchen, but couldn't help stealing glances. His fluid motions, traveling from one cabinet to the other, using long utensils on foods she has never seen before. She couldn't help but feel like a little kid and be amazed at how he flips the food in a heating pan.

The aroma in the room was rich, making Azalea's mouth water. Her stomach growled furiously to taste the foods that she's never smelled before.

She found herself wondering what he could be cooking and why? She surely isn't worthy enough to eat such food the master has prepared for her. Though deep down, she is too excited and joyous, she wanted to be selfish and eat everything he hands her.

She began to worry when her eyes started feeling heavy from tiredness. Her bones shivered in exhaustion, the air in the room making her chilly. She feels as though she's dead and ponders how long it's been since she's felt healthy.

Healthy?

She can barely determine what healthy feels like anymore and that scared her enough to make her heart race. Was she ready to die? By being a slave? Even worse, dying as a slave. Not receiving the right nutrition, but be forced to serve to such cruelty? She didn't believe so.

To relieve her tiredness in some way, Azalea slowly and carefully laid her head down on the cool surface called a counter. She studied the designs inside the glass for a short moment, loving how the beige colors mixed with darker ones. She convinced herself that she would only rest for a few seconds, just enough until master was done. Her eyes closed after that, giving into exhaustion.

*

Kyran was in the middle of cooking a grilled cheese sandwich for his slave but stopped abruptly when he heard her heart slow down immensely. He quickly turned around to see her head resting on the counter in a deep slumber.

"Azalea." He said, enjoying how her name feels on his tongue.

When she didn't answer, he walked to her slumped form, noticing more of her pale skin and protruding bones.

He didn't want to worry that she looked so frail and weak because all slaves were supposed to. But he did worry.

He couldn't help feeling terrible. It was his fault she was like this. He left her in the dungeon, the coldest and darkest place in the castle. No matter what he told himself, he knew she didn't deserve it. She hasn't done anything remotely wrong, never coming close to disobeying him, or anything of it.

He raised his hand to her body, grasping her shoulder, she felt ice cold. He noticed that he didn't feel the pleasant tingles this time. Should he at all?

Kyran gently shook her, "Azalea, I have your meal ready." He told her, but she didn't respond.

She was in dire need of medical attention and he couldn't provide her anything, especially if she's sleeping. He ditched the plan of feeding her and decided to bring her to his Chambers to rest up properly.

Once again, he carefully removed her from the chair and picked her fragile body up. It still felt as light as a feather which made him upset. He knew he was feeding her more than before, but still staying in the slave's standards he abides by. Somehow she still weighed next to nothing.

He walked out if the kitchen and headed for the grand stairway that leads to all the bedrooms.

"My Lord, what happened?" He heard Gladys ask from behind him.

"I'm afraid, I have exhausted her to her limit today." He tells her but motioning for her to follow.

He reaches his room and places her under the covers. He makes sure she is completely covered in warmth before shutting out the light and turning to Gladys.

"Please make sure that when she wakes, she is fully fed and bathed. We can only do so much until Henry arrives." Kyran told her.

"Of course, your majesty." She bows.

"Let her borrow any maids clothes she can fit into also, I don't want her wearing anything that is unsuitable." He reminds her and she quickly nods, leaving in search of fresh clothes.

Kyran stood there for a moment, hearing the little breaths from his slave. He feels disappointed because calling her slave feels awfully wrong. He knows that she was bought solely for the purpose, but something inside him was telling him no. No, she cannot be his slave. She is something else. She was meant for something else.

He was afraid to admit it, but he was a tad bit frightened at what else she could be. Did it have anything to do with the tingles that ran through his body whenever he touched her?

He didn't know, but he would certainly find out.