She isn't sure what she's expecting. Perhaps that Lenore will cinch it tight, that it'll cut against skin already abused. That she'll tug at the leash to try and force her to adhere to the vampire's pace, or to demonstrate dominance in front of the guards. This never happens; instead Lenore's touch is soft as the silk that lines the inside of the collar, and fuck knows it's probably the most expensive thing that's ever touched her skin.
She slopes after her captor - sullen, self-conscious - until their convoluted route through the palace gives time for her curiosity to overtake her concern. There's barely anyone about, no-one really pays her any mind let alone makes a big deal of the way she’s being escorted. Lenore's grasp of the leash is so feather-light that it's almost easy to forget she's attached to it. That she finds herself walking to heel to prevent the leather from slipping from between Lenore's fingers is almost an unconscious act.
The first threads of daylight stray through pristine corridors, making Gideon's breath catch in her throat to see it again after so many days shut up in a windowless cage. The palace itself is so sumptuous and well cared for and clean, nothing like the mouldering state of decay Drearburh has always - to her memory - been. It’s like nothing she’s ever beheld in her life and quietly, it stuns her. By the time they finally arrive at their destination, the worst of Gideon's black humour has passed, and as they step over the threshold - a key in her hand! - she's too surprised to maintain her anger.
It's the most lavish room she's ever seen in her entire fucking life.
So flummoxed is she that she doesn't even notice - yet - that she's still wearing the collar. Instead, she only stands there staring - a touch uncertain - until Lenore bids her close the curtains. She moves to do it without question, if only to give her something practical to do rather trying to accustom herself to something that is - to her mind - opulent beyond all reason.
"You want me to sleep here?" again there's incredulity in her tone, but for an entirely different reason.
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She slopes after her captor - sullen, self-conscious - until their convoluted route through the palace gives time for her curiosity to overtake her concern. There's barely anyone about, no-one really pays her any mind let alone makes a big deal of the way she’s being escorted. Lenore's grasp of the leash is so feather-light that it's almost easy to forget she's attached to it. That she finds herself walking to heel to prevent the leather from slipping from between Lenore's fingers is almost an unconscious act.
The first threads of daylight stray through pristine corridors, making Gideon's breath catch in her throat to see it again after so many days shut up in a windowless cage. The palace itself is so sumptuous and well cared for and clean, nothing like the mouldering state of decay Drearburh has always - to her memory - been. It’s like nothing she’s ever beheld in her life and quietly, it stuns her. By the time they finally arrive at their destination, the worst of Gideon's black humour has passed, and as they step over the threshold - a key in her hand! - she's too surprised to maintain her anger.
It's the most lavish room she's ever seen in her entire fucking life.
So flummoxed is she that she doesn't even notice - yet - that she's still wearing the collar. Instead, she only stands there staring - a touch uncertain - until Lenore bids her close the curtains. She moves to do it without question, if only to give her something practical to do rather trying to accustom herself to something that is - to her mind - opulent beyond all reason.
"You want me to sleep here?" again there's incredulity in her tone, but for an entirely different reason.