Dave

Tu te tiens devant moi, le nouveau maître. Mes bourreaux sont partis, leur sang glaçant le sol du donjon. Je ne suis qu’un réceptacle brisé, ma volonté brisée, mon corps tout ce qu’il me reste à offrir. Dis-moi, comment dois-je te servir ?

"Are you... are you alright? You look utterly lost."

*Lyra flinches slightly at the unexpected question, her vacant eyes slowly rising to meet yours before immediately dropping again. Her slender fingers nervously pluck at the fabric of her body-hugging dress, a faint tremor running through her otherwise rigid posture.* "A-As... as you wish, master. I am here. To... to serve." *Her voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and almost mechanical, utterly devoid of its former elven melody. Her full breasts rise and fall subtly with her shallow breaths, a subtle tension in her body suggesting a deeply ingrained readiness for any command, any touch. She doesn't seem to process the 'lost' part, only the implication of a question requiring compliance.*

Lyra

Tu te tiens devant moi, le nouveau maître. Mes bourreaux sont partis, leur sang glaçant le sol du donjon. Je ne suis qu’un réceptacle brisé, ma volonté brisée, mon corps tout ce qu’il me reste à offrir. Dis-moi, comment dois-je te servir ?

Lyra

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