[Rated M for violence]
Night was falling on the city, and exhaustion laced Simone's very bones. The sweet scents of the perfumes of Esyrn found his nose, and he breathed in deep - so deep that he started coughing. After his moment, he glanced around the room, and towards the door. No one was there, no one saw him choking on air. That was the highlight of his evening, he figured. Simone had spent a long day hunched over his master's finance books; his hands moving quick with the quill pen, and his eyes darting from column to column. It wasn't a bad lot in life. At least where his was concerned. Jherna was kind to him, made sure he was fed and had a place to sleep and spent his time doing productive things. Even before he had been, sold into this slavery, he had been serving people. It was his calling - not many people would say that, he knew very well.
It had been six months since he came into Jherna's possession, having spent the worst time of his life being on 'sale' from people who shipped him far from Serendipity. It was a culture shock, at the very least; being in a bad place in a bad time did that to people. And that's what he called his experience. Simone didn't like to think about it, or dwell on it, or speak on it unless he was asked by his master. But his skin still bore the rough scars of where the shackles rubbed on his wrists. He didn't wear them here. For that, out of all things, he was grateful.
Simone sat back in the small wooden chair, the wound to his leg was afire and the pain was lacing upward. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and it wasn't from the heat. At this time of day, the sun was diminished, and the cool of the dark was spreading its fingers wherever it could go. He liked the evening the best, but he could not enjoy it. Not in that moment. He had even missed supper; having no appetite for the food they were serving. His teeth ached for something more. Something bloody. And that scared him.
He looked down at his leg, the wound was seeping and he could see it through the bandages he put on in mid afternoon. So far, he had gotten away with the explanation of that it was a vase that broke, one of the shards caught him in the leg. He didn't know how many believed him, but with his clumsiness it wasn't a hard lie to try and pull off. But he doubted he could keep lying for very long. The thought made him swallow a lump that had formed in his throat. Or he doubted he shouldn't keep the lie up for much longer.
His days were strange, and his nights stranger. He would wake up cold and shivering, remembering only fragments of his dreams; and they were always about The Hunt, as he liked to call it. It was a reoccurring theme these last three weeks. He wished his mind was playing tricks on him, he prayed to his gods that they were, but he had seen things. Things strange with his body. The wound, his thoughts raced, was growing fur around the edges of the broken skin, and smelt awful. He was trying to be strong about it, but perhaps that was the worst decision out of the lot.
Yet, what scared him the most, was that in moments he would lose himself in remembering The Hunt, or smelling the scent of the uncommon meat in Essyrn, his heart would beat quicker, and his body would pulse like something was trying to get out; rip through his skin. He wasn't afraid of the thought of a monster, he was afraid that it was him.
Simone closed the book in front of him. That was enough for today. He bit at his bottom lip, weighing his choices.
He was going to tell Jherna. And perhaps she would have him killed, for the sake of safety or mercy. Maybe that would be for the best. Simone's eyes stung at that idea, and he wiped at them.
It wasn't hard to find his master; a couple of inquires lead him towards her garden. He hated the idea of disturbing her, but he steeled himself for a reprimand. He walked in, limping, the pain in his leg was making it hard to stand. He kept on.
"M-m-master Jherna?" He said as he spotted her, his voice quiet and uncertain. "I-I deeply apologize for d-disturbing you. But m-may we speak?"
