Amelia
I tie off my French braid, sending up thoughts of love to Molly. I don’t usually braid my hair while looking in the mirror like this, but I wanted to watch as I pulled strand after strand into the braid, the long, beautiful, uncollared neck revealed beneath.
I know the collar is not physically tight enough to restrict my windpipe, but it does feel like I can breath again in a way I haven’t since I got to the palace.
I run a hand over the length from my jaw to my collarbone.
It’s not enough. I can never let myself forget that wearing a collar at all is degrading and debasing, that being enslaved to another species is abominable, that I deserve and will fight for my freedom.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t love the feeling of my bare neck, even if it’s only while I’m in my room
