OLD NAME - AISURU
Manipulator-mastermind.
A psychological phenomenon where hostages or victims develop positive feelings, empathy, or loyalty towards their captors or abusers, sometimes to the point of defending them. It can occur in situations whe...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
༺☆༻
It had been two weeks since you last felt the warmth of the sun on your skin, the comforting embrace of nature that you had taken for granted. The piercing sunlight, the rustle of leaves, the scent of earth—things you'd never thought twice about—had become distant memories, almost like a dream. You'd always been surrounded by nature, and now that it was gone, you realized just how much it meant to you. How much it had been a part of you.
Two weeks. That's how long it had been since you were taken to this place, and now you were finally starting to understand the reality of your situation.
A servant. That's all you were here, and you couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that came with that realization. You had hoped, deep down, that maybe there was something more—some hidden purpose, some secret that would explain why you were here. But every day was the same. Cleaning, organizing, performing small tasks that left you exhausted.
Still, something nagged at the back of your mind. It was the way the other servants acted, the way they seemed to avoid certain topics, how they would quickly change the subject when you asked about their duties. It was as if there was something more, something they were hiding from you. But no matter how hard you pressed, no one would give you a straight answer. They deflected, dodged your questions with practiced ease, leaving you frustrated and suspicious.
And then there was the way they looked at you sometimes, with pity or fear. The way their eyes would dart away when you caught them staring, as if they knew something you didn't. As if they were waiting for something to happen.
What were they hiding? What did they know that you didn't? And most importantly, why wouldn't they tell you?
Another question gnawed at you, growing louder as the days passed. In the two weeks you'd been here, you had never met the girl who held the title of "Number 1."
It was during dinner with the other servants, the clinking of forks against plates filling the otherwise quiet room, that you decided to voice your curiosity.
"So... why doesn't Number 1 ever eat with us?" you asked, trying to sound casual.
The sound of silverware on the porcelain plates paused, just for a moment, before continuing with an almost forced rhythm. It was as if your question had cast a shadow over the room, a subject no one wanted to address.
Emi was the first to speak, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she replied, "Because she thinks she's too good to eat with the rest of us."
There was an edge to her words, a bitterness that wasn't there before. It was the first time you'd heard her speak about anyone with such disdain. The other servants remained silent, their expressions carefully neutral.
