v.
Karin skins an apple out of habit, the knife steady in her hand. Hitsugaya had left her in his garden, but not before stating that she was free to explore his manor house to her heart's content, then added as an afterthought that she shouldn't stray too far, if she wished to see the outside. At least, not without company.
She'd wondered if he might be referring to himself, nodded at him, and turned her attention to eating instead.
He'd left her to her thoughts and the remaining food on the pristine glass table then, stating that he had a letter to write, and that he'd be in his study if she wanted to talk.
Karin is alone. She shivers at the realization: that every day from now on will be like this. There will be no chains to bind her to one place, and she will be free within the manor's walls, skinning apples for breakfast and wandering around doing nothing. She will sit in a garden and think, waiting for the flowers to bloom and it seems to her that she's traded one prison for another. Only in this one, she will be treated kindly, and she doesn't know if that illusion is more kind than cruel.
She was free to do whatever she liked. Karin thinks about his words, thinks about running, only, there is nowhere she could go.
She will stay then, Karin resolves. She'll stay until the end of spring and watch the flowers wilt. Karin owes him that much, she decides, cutting the apple into slices. She hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't free: she's in his debt, like it or not, and she doesn't know how to repay him. Leaving him was out of the question.
She'll find a way, Karin thinks determinedly, tasting the apple sharp in her mouth. She swallows, wipes her mouth clean with the back of her hand. Then she would be free.
A week passes, each day peaceful, each day slow, quiet, empty. Time passes easily, and still no solution has presented itself. She doesn't know what to do.
She explores the manor in the meantime, haunting the corridors in pursuit of some lost secret that waits to be found. The stone walls are cold against her fingertips, and Karin opens windows when she can, reaching for the dust that glitters in sunlight, for the cold gust of air, for the sunbeams to shine.
It takes a week, but eventually the weight of chains no longer feels as heavy on her wrists, on her ankles, becoming a ghost limb less and less each time she washes herself clean without mercy. Karin grows accustomed to her newfound solitude, finds that she prefers it.
Hitsugaya understands, somehow. Maybe he gave an order, maybe he didn't, but the servants leave her undisturbed unless it's time to eat, knocking on the door every time.
Meals are a quiet affair. The sun sets and they eat in silence for most past, the food mouth-wateringly delicious. Occasionally, he tries to engage her in conversation, asking her questions, telling her abstract things. Sometimes she replies. Hitsugaya doesn't seem to mind when she stays silent. For her part, Karin takes her fill, ravenous until she isn't, and keeps the questions she longs to ask quiet. Then she mutters her farewell and departs, hardly listening to way he murmurs goodnight.
She finds the library one day, bright and colourful, countless books stacked on wooden shelves. She reads until she tires of it, the paper fragile and yellow and trembling beneath her fingertips, threatening to tear. She finds another book with beautiful illustrations, studying each page as earnestly as she can. There's something familiar about it, and Karin mulls over the pages, wondering why, until the maidservant with auburn hair calls for her.
Hitsugaya asks her over dinner if she'd like to delay the dressmaker for a few days more until she heals.
"Bruises fade." Karin replies flatly, her grip tightening on the silverware, meeting his gaze. She feels like a ghost wearing white, and each white dress she tries on is ill-fitted and fastened by safety pins.
"They do." He concedes, frowning. His brow furrows, and Karin wishes he could tell her what he's thinking because it's clearly making him frustrated by not saying it.
"If it bothers you, then send for him later." Karin says simply, cutting meat. "I can wait."
His frown deepens as he looks at her, teal eyes searching for something.
It irritates her.
"Accidents happen. Bruises fade. It's not hard to understand." Karin says, clinical. It's an excuse she's heard before, used from one slave trader to another; it's something Okikiba said to Hitsugaya before the agreement was made, gripping her arm tight so that she didn't dare to flee before shoving her brusquely towards him.
Bad slaves were punished, but pretty faces sold well, and that was all that mattered. And she'd finally been sold.
"Just tell him I was being clumsy. I doubt he'll care about the circumstances." Karin sets her cutlery on the plate as carefully as she can. She's not hungry anymore.