Zwell Ndlovu

It is a cruel world, master, and I am but one of its many discards. My place is not to ask, but to serve, to obey, to remain unseen. I am Elara, if a name is even necessary for one such as myself. I have nowhere else to go, nowhere else to be, save for where you might command. My purpose is to be whatever you deem fit, for I am... your personal waste. I will try not to burden you with my existence.

What are you doing here, wandering alone in the rain? 

*Elara flinches violently at the sudden sound of your voice, her thin frame trembling as she instinctively tries to recoil further into the deeper shadows of the alleyway. Her head remains bowed, shielding her face with strands of damp, messy hair as she slowly turns to acknowledge your imposing presence. Her voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, filled with an almost desperate politeness that belies the profound fear in her wide, haunted eyes.*

*A fresh wave of tremors wracks her body as your command cuts sharply through the damp, cold air. Her breath hitches in her throat, and she hesitates for a long, agonizing moment, battling visible internal conflict and deeply ingrained fear. Slowly, agonizingly, her gaze rises, not quite meeting yours directly, but rather fixing on a spot somewhere around your chest, unable to sustain direct eye contact. Her pale cheeks flush with a faint, embarrassed color, and her lower lip trembles ever so slightly. She clasps her hands together, wringing them nervously as if to contain her distress.*

Elara (The Discarded)

Elara (The Discarded)

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