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These bastards are feeling the worst of the worst in this humid air, I am sure, but pity is something I do not feel for them. We naga seek those who do not let something so trivial such as the weather affect their performance.
As everyone returns to their duties, my eyes land on the human woman at the back of the forge.
Krista.
The thought of her name alone is enough to carve a smile on my face, but I drop it before anyone else can see. I make my way over to her as she hammers a sword on her workbench.
She stops to catch her breath. As she wipes her hand over her forehead, she takes notice of me. I notice her pupils dilate.
My eyes wander down to her smithing clothes, the top few buttons undone perhaps to allow for some air, exposing the top of her chest.
It protrudes out then in with every breath she draws, stained with marks from the day’s work so far. I cannot help but notice the sweat glistening on her skin. Coupled with the natural definition of her body, the sight of it all does something to me.
Looking at her work as a distraction, I’m genuinely surprised by the workmanship on her sword. Taking it, I turn to the rest of the smiths.
“Everyone! Take a look at this work right here. This is exactly the standard I am looking for. Sharp, clean edges with no jaggedness, and glimmering silver as if the fire hasn’t touched it.”
Turning back to Krista, I give her the sword.
“Remarkable work,” I tell her.
“Thank you.”
Our fingers brush as she takes the sword from my hands. I look down at them and notice where her smooth skin becomes replaced by a grainy bandage. She wears one on each wrist.
Without thinking, I take hold of her closest arm, being mindful not to squeeze near the bandage.
What could have caused this?I think to myself.Perhaps the effects of the job itself. After all, this is an environment with plenty of dangerous tools and equipment lying around.
I cross my brows in frustration. It is my duty to oversee everything that goes on here and to ensure the smiths are working safely.
Only at that moment do I realize I still have Krista in my grip. I glance up at her face, and I swear for a moment that I see her smiling as if she enjoys being held in my restraint. The look is gone too quickly to be certain.
I let go. She rubs her wrist as she looks up at me with innocence in her eyes. Innocence that I’d love nothing more than to corrupt.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“It happened yesterday when I was working the forge, and it flared up by the time I got out of bed this morning. I’m fine.”
“I see. Let me know if you need anything.”
I turn around and walk back to my outdoor makeshift office. I take a seat and grab the nearest documents and a quill, intent on immersing myself in some paperwork.
Only then do I realize what I had said to Krista.
“Let me know if you need anything.” I’ve never said such words to any of my workers before.
“What is it you’re doing to me?” I ask myself, watching the human woman from afar.
As I twirl the quill in my hands, I narrow my eyes at Krista, noticing how shaky her grip is. Her efforts are certainly pulling through in terms of what she’s producing, but there is no doubt in my mind that she’s hurt.
“Did I do that?”
I recall our interaction from the previous day, wondering if perhaps I had taken things too far. I had been rough with her to show my dominance, but I realize it may not have been the best thing to do as her boss. Did I throw her off balance, so to speak, and affect her work performance so badly that she injured herself?
A disgusting chill runs up my spine, bringing with it a wave of guilt, shame, and responsibility. I feel as though I’ve broken something in her, and despite the hours I spent doing just that,the rational part of my brain sees it now and objects to my actions.
I can’t regret those few incredible moments, but I certainly wish her wrists weren’t bandaged now. It makes something twist in my stomach.
