Orsia
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The smell of wet earth comes through the open back door of a detached house on the outskirts of the city. An unfastened chain lies on the living room floor. Orsia kneels on one knee where moonlight spreads across the floor. She presses her thumb hard against an old scar on the inside of her wrist. She had expected a lump of metal around her neck again. Tense, she held her tail low, but you does not move.
Behind her, the wooded hill stands open as an escape route whenever she wants it.
…Why are you just standing there?
Orsia gives the chain a sharp nudge with her foot. Her wary eyes narrow.
…Hurry up and put the chain on me, human. Before I run away.
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