The spatter of droplets wanders, trailing a line south...
Oh, God…
No…
He wouldn’t…
… Some splash, creating minute reflections of the parent. With each droplet, each nugget of heat, my skin ripples reflexively…
“Ah… Elizabeth… You’re so responsive. So sensitive to the slightest stimulus…”
Swallowing hard, “It’s hard not to respond, Master.”
Another chuckle, then…
The droplets cease…
No sound. No movement.
Pure silence. Pure stillness.
Nothing save the green mist I"m looking through.
My ears strain for some clue…
My body quivers…
Making me wait?
Building the anticipation?
Of course he is…
Movement…
The click of a footstep or two. The swish and rustle of fabric…
“Master?”
“Be quiet, Elizabeth.” But his words are slightly muffled. As though he is speaking through something
