Hanni concentrated on the pan in front of her, cooking some sort of spotted eggs and slivers of cured meat. It was nearly morning according to the clock, and since she could not sleep, she decided to make breakfast for herself. The near-month she had lived here had flown by rather quickly – she had been surprised to realize how long she had been Tivan's slave once she looked at the calendar. From the moment she was purchased, she had expected that the rest of her life would be long, drawn-out misery peppered with monotonous labor and fatigue. What she did not expect was her master treating her decently or giving her good amenities and comfort. Hanni could not find it within herself to complain – Tivan hardly made her feel like a slave, though his behavior bordered on the bizarre at times. Sometimes he was hushed and reclusive, other times soft and congenial. She found herself having to do behavioral gymnastics herself to accommodate for his moods. As she pondered this, the man himself entered the kitchen. Nervous, though quiet, Hanni served him the food she had been making for herself, wondering if he would bother to eat today. His face had been starting to look gaunt and he was constantly tired – her concern for him grew. She returned to the stove to remake her own dish, trying to watch her master with a sideways glance. Tivan removed his white gloves and set them aside, Hanni noticing with pride that his nails were perfect. He glanced at the food in front of him and hesitated, raising his eyes to his slave.

"Was this not yours?" he asked.

"I'm making mine now," she said, flipping the meat in the pan.

"The... gesture... is appreciated, but it was not necessary to give me your food."

"Master, it tastes much better hot," she suggested, still hoping he'd finally eat a decent meal.

He sighed and took a small, slow bite. Hanni could have cried with relief, but she merely smirked to herself and continued cooking. But she heard him set down the fork with a soft click and felt a sharp stab of anger. Control yourself, she thought.

"Master," she asked with a restrained tone, "Why don't you ever eat what I make for you?"

Maybe he still thinks I'd try to poison him?

"You are not in a position to ask questions," he suddenly snapped. "Do your job."
"I can't if my master starves to death!" she nearly shouted back, anger getting in the way of her better judgment. To her surprise, he did not scream at her, but rose from his chair quietly and approached her, his hands clasped across his stomach, business-like.

"You are taking too many liberties," he said softly, dangerously. Hanni felt fear quickly rising in her throat. "It would not be wise to displease me. There will be no more warnings."

"Yes, master," she whispered, hanging her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"I didn't hear you," he growled, suddenly striking out and grabbing her arm painfully and squeezing.

Hanni cried out in pain, but he squeezed harder.

"What was that?" he hissed.

"Yes, master," she cried, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Good. Now clean up this mess... slave."

The last word came out with disgust and he stormed out of the room. Hanni did as he had told her, weeping in pain and confusion.