VINCENZO VOLKOV;
"Come sit, Little Mouse." I tapped my lap, watching her defiance flare in her eyes as she glared at me. She hesitated, swallowing hard, but the chains on her ankles clinked as she shuffled toward me.
When she finally reached me, she sat down, her body stiff, squirming as if the very idea of touching me made her skin crawl.
"Uncomfortable, are we?" I smiled, running my fingers through her hair. "Open your mouth."
I lifted a spoonful of chicken soup to her lips. She hesitated, then took it, swallowing mechanically, her eyes darting away from mine as she sniffled.
"How is it?" I asked softly, though I already knew she wouldn't respond. Silence. Just as I expected.
"Ah... so you don't like it," I mused, pushing the plate away with a flick of my wrist. "Such a shame."
