Little Crafter

It had been a full week, give or take a couple of hours, since Ellie had woken up on the wet tile floor of her bathroom. When the tub had overflowed, the water flooded the apartment and caused damage to her secondary studio just beneath it; but that wasn't the cause of her stress. Ellie was alive. And for whatever reason, she hadn't since heard from her old Master. She was battered inside, and it hurt to walk. She was pretty sure she had bronchitis, too. But what plagued her most was a constant feeling of being watched.

Injury, illness and the constant state of alarm left her fatigued and she found herself reacting violently to every little sound. But her reactions were getting progressively more sluggish despite her best efforts to stay sharp. Tremors crept up her wrists, and she jerked with shot nerves as she knocked the edge of her cereal bowl against the counter in front of the sink. It had gotten to the point that she no longer trusted her hands for work - the hot-wire cutter she'd just moved to her primary studio on the ground floor was definitely off limits.

Ellie tipped her bowl of soggy flakes into the sink without really paying attention to them, and just let the cereal puddle into the drain sieve. Reluctantly she turned around and glanced around at her apartment; she groaned. It looked like an interior lighting store had spewed its entire stock into her home, which wasn't far from the truth. She'd gone on a frenzy in the closest hardware store, which turned out to be two towns away, and bought indiscriminately. When she got home, her placement of the lights had been just as liberal. There hadn't really been any planning out where each lamp would go. It was just a case of what was closest and where was darkest. The effect was... Ellie made a sour face and groaned again.

Limping slightly, she made her way to the bathroom and stopped at the doorway. The bathroom was as neat as it had ever been. Only the ripple and stain in the carpet along the edge of the doorway belied the calm of the little sanctuary. Where bathing had been a place to escape and dissolve into comfortable bliss, it now appeared to her as a place where she could nearly die. Or.. did? Had she died, she wondered. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom wouldn't answer any of her questions, so she pulled them back in and hid them away for a time when they could be resolved. Ellie caught a whiff of herself and grimaced. Everything in her apartment was cleaner than her. She took a step into the bathroom to face her memories and bathe for the first time in a week.

Outside, three pairs of eyes were glued to her well lit apartment. One pair in particular watched as she stood and waited at the edge of that room where he'd taken her, and he stifled an excited shiver in the July heat. He watched as her clothes clung damply to her petite form. It was like she was teasing him, but in so innocent and unwitting a manner that it was all the more alluring. Tendrils of mousy brown hair were plastered to her cheeks and neck, coming down from the messy bun she'd quickly whipped her hair into. She'd been too distraught to look after herself as she neurotically cleaned everything around her, and had carried his seed buried deep inside her for the past week. His imagination began to cut in with flashes of what she might look like naked and pregnant. Not just pregnant, but pregnant with his child. It took him less time to imagine her killing it or herself since she knew nothing of him, and worse, only knew of the attacker that killed her - however temporarily.

"Emilian," one of his companions said quietly - that one word jarred him from his thoughts, brought him back to reality.

"Vadim?" it was less a question than a request to his old friend. He felt a need for guidance, and he knew no one better suited.

"You've gotten a lot closer than this perch, I take it? Perhaps you've done a bit more rescuing of this damsel than you've felt warrant to mention, hmm? Or a bit more than rescuing... You're a man, Emilian. I don't need to tell you what I've seen, but I can say I know the look of an enamored guard. You've tasted this girl in one way or another and that won't abate as long as you're watching over her every movement. Tell me how you see this progressing."

Emilian blinked, still staring out at the bright windows surrounded by so much darkness, and marveled at the accuracy of Vadim's judgement of him over the last few days. Vadim was no mind reader, or at least if he were, he did not profess that as one of his many coveted skills. They'd just known one another for many years. They'd known each other through fights and healing wounds; but the most solid aspect of their connection was based in their shared unwavering desire to protect lost sheep. They were men of the same ilk, no matter how far off the wagon Emilian felt he'd fallen when he found Ellie's body in the bathroom. It was the one and only time he'd ever been allowed, or allowed himself to be that selfish. Looking at the girl now, he was in awe that she was able to tend to herself after such an ordeal, both physical and mental. He looked over to his friend and admitted what was eating at him most. "I don't believe I can protect Eleanor Little."