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By now, every single zagfer who works on the estate knows that I am following Neveah.
It is hard not to notice my constant presence around her.
I am not sure if my mother and brother have noticed. I believe that if Rhiucra knew, he would have confronted me already.
His crush on Neveah is embarrassingly obvious.
He is a little cunt who is too feeble to just take what he wants.
Two.
When I follow Neveah, when I watch her, I do not go up close to her.
I do not interfere with her work. Instead, I simply just linger close by.
I have to restrain myself from doing more – from grabbing her up and muffling her screams, then snatching her away.
I have to restrain myself from taking her over my knee and slapping her until she is bruised and bloody.
And wet.
The torture of it, of waiting until I can have her again, is almost…pleasurable, although I do not know why.
Today, I am perched in a tree, and I lounge against the wide trunk of the tree as I watch Neveah and several zagfers putting wet clothes on a line where the clothes can dry.
The clotheslines are very far from the kitchens and laundry rooms, and Neveah and the other servants have to lug the heavy, wet clothing for almost two miles to get to the clothing lines.
I know that my mother strategically placed the clothing lines that far away from the buildings of the estate because she did not want guests to see the indignity of having clothes drying in the sunlight.
Neveah is hot and sweaty, and her long black hair has come uncoiled from its thick braid.
“I bet you’d love for me to run my tongue along your skin,” I coo softly, though she turns her head as if she thought she heard me. I chuckle, loving how crazy I make her.
She is wearing one of her maddening dresses again, and I cannot help but wonder if she makes her own clothing.
Because if she does, then she’s absolutely shit at it.
Not that I am complaining.
She arches her back and reaches up to pin a sheet to one of six clothing lines.
I twirl the knife in my hand, but I think twice before gripping the blade again. My previous wounds have not healed yet, and I do not want to harm myself irreversibly. My hands are my livelihood, after all.
At the end of the day, when I am done shadowing Neveah, I return to the manor. As I walk, I recall how this morning my mother actually spoke to me.
In a very stilted voice, she told me that two of the zagfers quit their positions because they were too afraid of me.
She said that she even offered to double their salary, but they refused.
She expected me to answer her. She probably expected an apology.
Surely by now, she knows that nothing can move me? Especially not guilt?
I did not answer her at all, not even with a snarky remark, because right then, Neveah walked past the window of my mother’s private parlor.
Neveah could not see me, could not possibly know I was there, but maybe she sensed that I was close by, because her hips swayed more dramatically than before.
I stood up and left the room while my mother was still talking.
