So this is what it felt like to be moved by someone else.

A strange thought. Even if Chen wasn’t exactly a big, strong girl herself, capable of picking Rose up and carrying her, it’s not like Rose ever... and anyway, how would she even dare? Holding someone like this was so [i]intimate,[/i] so demanding. And it is easy enough to melt into the movements: the strut across the room, each step small but quick, on the ball of the foot, her hips swaying easily as she went. Then the low curtesy (not that she has any skirt to lift, not yet), the steps of making the tea (a ritual, one that priestesses are as familiar with as monks), and then the way she is to fall to her knees, elegantly, head bowed and hands upraised, the tea as still and smooth as glass within the cup.

The only problem is when she is released and told to try for herself. Because she is [i]useless,[/i] isn’t she? Suddenly, bereft of that comforting touch, everything comes undone. She wobbles dangerously across the room, her balance gone; her curtesy is ungainly, her blush as she recognizes her own nakedness is furious, and she is seized again by gentle hands before she can butcher the tea. No, no, back to being controlled, little Rose; you clearly aren’t ready for this.

Then Thian hits upon it: little reassuring words. That Rose [i]can[/i] do this, that she is graceful, that she is pretty when she walks, and, ah! There. [i]That[/i] does it. A dozen repetitions around the room under Keron’s eye, but all that was needed is one. When tested again, her footsteps are perfect, exactly where Thian guided them; her curtesy is low and perfect and without any self-awareness, and her skill with the tea is almost mechanical, but with a gentle fluidity that suggests more than rote learning.

So here is a prize, Countess, that much is obvious: a girl who is [i]incredibly[/i] malleable. It takes more than an eagerness to serve to be this eminently moldable, to yield this thoroughly, to be akin to wet clay. She could be shaped into a perfect maid, or a deliberately imperfect one; she could have new truths whispered into her ear to change her very self. Tell her who she is, and she listens.

Ah, a case in point: Rose lifts her head and dares look the Countess in the eye, though she quails like a wet kitten. “Please,” she dares, “is my Chen all right...? Whatever you do to me, please, just don’t punish her... [i]too[/i] much...”

Her voice is faltering, but the spark of defiance in her eyes still exists. It is as feeble and weak as a mouse trying to hold a sword, but for [i]her[/i] Chen, she will still dare speak out of turn and speak to someone so far her superior, so important and commanding.

(And deep within, the nameless thing is strangely proud.)