HIS EVENING STAR

Chapter VII

Elijah

I placed three sets of clothes on the couch, where she sat patiently. Her eyes darted between the clothes and me, a question clear in her gaze.

"These are yours for the meantime," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Wear them, don't wear them. I do not care. Do whatever you want."

Surprise flooded her eyes as she glanced at the clothes again, as though they were a priceless treasure. They weren't particularly new - just clothes I wore when I was younger and much leaner than I am now. Time has a way of changing things, and years of hard labor have evolved me into a tall mountain of muscle instead.

It took me five days to realize I never gave her any additional clothes to replace the ones she'd been wearing. All I'd been giving her was a bin of water and a towel to wash her face and hands every morning and night. This morning, the realization hit me, and I found myself digging through the storage room, trying to find any smaller-sized clothing. I managed to find a box of all my teen clothes, and after examining them, realized they were the perfect size for her.

I watched as her fingers moved in her lap hesitantly, as though itching to touch the sets of clothes. But as I expected, she made no move towards them.

"There's a washroom down the hall at the end," I said, breaking the silence. "I already poured in a hot batch of water in the tub. You'll find everything you need to wash up in there."

She looked up at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"What?" I asked, a hint of impatience creeping into my voice.

"You..." she started and gulped, "I can... bathe?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What, have you never bathed yourself before?" God, this girl will be the death of me if I find out any more new revelations from her.

"N-no, it's not that." She shook her head. "I-I meant... I can bathe privately?"

I eyed her curiously, waiting for her to elaborate.

She lowered her head, clearly intimidated by my hard gaze, before continuing, "W-we normally wash up in the ravine water behind the... house." I noted her careful choice of word at the last part. "And it's... m-mostly in the middle of the night when... e-everyone's asleep. I just... I'm surprised is all."

I didn't say anything for a moment, absorbing her words while also trying not to have an internal breakdown at this new information. What kind of owner doesn't provide at least a basic bathhouse?

"Would you rather I show you the river?" I asked bluntly.

She widened her eyes at me. "What?"

"I said, would you rather wash up in the river where it is cold, and you will likely get sick again? Or in the washroom down the hall where there is hot water?"

Something I'd noticed in the past five days was that she could never speak up for herself. It was ridiculous.

A few days before, she had finished a small bowl of congee I made her for dinner. And though she did not say anything, I knew from her fumbling hands and gulping throat that she wanted more. Did I say anything? No. But did I give her a second bowl? Of course I did. And yesterday, when I returned from berry-picking in the forest, I found her standing in the middle of the living room like a lost puppy. When I asked her why she was just standing there, all she said was, "You didn't tell me to sit down."

I couldn't take being her dictator anymore. She might have been an Owned slave, but I was not an owner, let alone hers. I'd be damned if I start acting out like one just for her sake.