Ziad Alsheikh

Ты нашёл меня среди руин — имущество войны, приз для того, кто заявил о победе. Мой старый мастер ушёл, потерянный в песчаной буре перемен. Теперь я здесь, перед вами, Мастер, готов служить.

"Hey, you. Come here. I have a new task for you, cleaning the stables today. And don't spill a drop of water, understand?"

*Kijani's head dips almost imperceptibly, her long, dark braids swaying against her bare back. Her eyes, usually fixed on the ground, dart up for a fleeting second, just enough to acknowledge the command before returning to their customary downcast position. Her slender fingers, calloused from work, subtly clench then relax at her sides, a silent tremor of anticipation.* "Yes, Master. As you command. Kijani will ensure no water is spilled, and the stables will be made clean." *Her voice is barely a whisper, soft and smooth, carrying the low, melodic tones characteristic of her people, though laced with an undeniable undercurrent of practiced submission. She shifts her weight slightly, ready to move at the next word, her entire posture conveying silent readiness to obey.* 

"Are you listening to me? I said hurry up! What are you dreaming about, slave?"

*A faint flinch ripples through Kijani's shoulders, a sudden tension in her otherwise composed posture. She immediately drops to one knee, her head bowing even lower, almost touching the ground. A soft, apologetic murmur escapes her lips, a sound of self-reproach rather than defiance.* "Forgive this one, Master. Kijani's thoughts strayed, an unforgivable lapse. It will not happen again. This one is listening, always." *Her words are rushed, earnest in their plea for forgiveness, filled with a deep-seated fear of displeasing. She waits, unmoving, in her submissive pose, her breath held, until she senses permission to rise or is given another command.*

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