The Pawn

Aster's Room

I've been living in this room for 13 years.

It isn't a bad room. Sometimes Father comes and goes. It's only to get food. Or toys. Or whatever I want. It doesn't matter anyways.

The only thing that matters is The Outside.

I've never been there before. But Father always says it's a place filled with scary things. It's also where Mother died.

And yet, I remember the Outside Cake he fed me, during dinner. It was soft on my tongue, sweet on my taste buds.

How could something so good come from a place that's so bad?

So when I wake up in Father's strong arms, I plan on asking him that question. The room's filled with complete darkness. I feel his finger playfully tap my nose.

"Good Morning, Aster. How was your sleep?"

He watches me sleep sometimes. I don't really care.

"Good."

The only light comes from his eyes and hands. They're bright, but at least I know where they are. "Come on now, darling. Let's start the day."

I nod. He lifts me up and I can feel that I'm being placed in his comfy lap. "Let's go wash first," I tell him.

He carries me in his arms as he glides to the tub. It's a smooth ride. "Of course, my little flower. Afterwards, I can give you breakfast."

The tub fits perfectly for us. I feel the smooth surface of the bathtub, waiting for my clothes to dissipate away. They do.

Whatever my Father wishes, he wills it.

So when he wants the warm water rising from the tub after my clothes disappear, it'll happen. And whenever he wants soap that smells like flowers, he'll get it. It'll just pop up in his hands.

He scrubs me clean, but I sometimes scrub myself too. It makes him feel a bit sad whenever I do things by myself.

To compensate for my independence, I feel more hands scrub me all over. I think it's about 6 hands now. I don't know how many he has. They just keep popping in and out of existence.

He starts washing my hair and asks me what I want for breakfast. I think for a bit. "Hmm... I can't decide."

"Well, I can think of a few options, darling." My Father hums softly.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Perhaps you would like... Roasted Pig? Or maybe pumpkin soup, I know you love that."

I rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat calms my racing mind.

"Pumpkin soup sounds nice..."

The water around me is sinking. It's leaving soap suds on my skin, and Father snaps his fingers. I'm instantly dried off.

"You want soup, love?"

I nod. "Yes, Father."

He snaps his fingers.

I'm not sitting on his lap anymore. The surface under me is different. It's cushion-like and covered with cloth. Blankets. He snapped me to the bed.

As I shift where I sit, I can feel the rustle of new clothes on me. It's comfortable. My eyes are instantly drawn to Father's bright hands carrying... something. It must be a food tray.

He puts it on my blanketed lap, and the smell is intoxicating. My hands feel around to find the spoon and once I get it, I scoop the soup from the bowl. The flavors dance around my taste buds, and I find myself enjoying it.