It was polished, too.
The four rows I once earned have been sewn back into place with precise stitches. He’d probably sew them straight to my chest if he thought about it. Make sure they stick.
Even now, Father can’t bear the thought of me appearing as anything less than impeccable. If I’m going to be seen, I must be the perfect ornament for his legacy.
Pretty and shiny and on display.
I purse my lips thoughtfully as I consider the Ramves guard across from me. “Where have I been? Well, for the past two days I’ve been in a cell about two hundred feet from here.”
She leans in, flashing her daggered teeth. Her palm slams onto the table with a resounding crack that echoes in the sterile room, and I’m quite proud when I don’t flinch.
“That isn’t what I meant,” she snarls.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You should be more specific,” I respond with saccharine sweetness.
“Where have you been since Ljómur fell?” she growls, her composure slipping.
“That’s what you want to know?” I ask with a light chuckle. “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Communication is a dying art, after all, and one must learn to finish their thoughts.”
Her eyes narrow into slits of growing irritation.
I lean forward and flash her my brightest, most disarming smile. “I’m not so sure I should tell you.”
“And why not?” Her patience is visibly fraying, just like the others who dragged me into this room before her.
“Well, you might get mad,” I say with an apologetic grimace.
“Try me,” she challenges.
I lean my elbows on the table, conceding with a few small, theatrical nods. “How far do you want it broken down? This could take a long time, but we have plenty, I guess. And honestly? I’m bored.”
She snarls again.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll talk.” I pause, pretending to think for a moment. “For the first hour I was free of that hellhole, I was driving. The second, I was also driving, but might’ve stopped to piss. The third…”
“Prisoner,” she growls, the warning rumbling low in her throat.
“…you guessed it. Still driving. It was rather dull after all that excitement.”
“That’s enough!” The outburst booms through the room, and she looks moments away from wrapping her hands around my throat.
“Okay, you win,” I conceded as I place my hand on my sternum, brows shooting high. “I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.”
The silence stretches thick and uncomfortable as I lean in conspiratorially. “I think I’ve finally figured out the real reason I’m here,” I whisper with a wicked leer. “Is this because of the disgusting things I did to your dad?”
Her chair screeches back as she surges to her feet with a snarl.
I flash her a shit-eating grin, reaching out to boop the end of her nose like she’s an angry kitten.
“I know, I know,” I drawl, dragging the words out slow as molasses. “Listen, I won’t insist on calling you daughter, and you don’t have to call me Daddy… but I might like it if you call me Mommy.”
Her face contorts, hand snapping to her hip where the remote to this damned shock collar sits holstered on her belt.
“Uh-uh,” I whisper with a click of my tongue, the humor fading from my tone as I draw on my power. “You don’t want to do that. Where’s the key?”
“Pocket,” she answers with no inflection.
I nod at her hand hovering over the remote. “Be a dear and unlock my collar.”
