There are only two people I have ever considered myself Master to. For only two has it meant something other than a role to be played. For only two has it been true in a way that goes deeper than skin and blood.
The Occasionally Cruel One is one of those two. And she has, in her beautifully agonizing silence, become deaf to my words. So I force myself to forget her, that I don’t continue to muse on the lilt in her voice when she is impassioned, or the deft twist of a word when she is naughty, or the way she became mine the moment my teeth found her neck in truth. I force myself to forget so that I can stop checking how tightly the door is closed.
This exchange, captured several years ago, summarizes my relationship with her rather perfectly.
From afar, Madeleine blinks innocently. “I don’t mean to torment you, Master. Really.”
D’jaevle pages: I just bet.
Madeleine pages: Honestly, my Master…
D’jaevle pages: Yes?
Madeleine pages: I’m lying. I really was trying to torment you. Bad of me, isn’t it?