Eyes for eyes. Stares for stares. And a dress... for a princess.

Bella's expression is unreadable. Her eyes fix on Redana's, watching herself be watched, calculating the angles of vision and where, and what they point to. She watches the rise and fall of Dany's chest and listens to the rattling of the bell that tells her the Princess has developed a slight tremor she can't quite control. She watches the reverence with which those strong, calloused hands lift the dress and carry it toward her.

Bella's posture is immaculate. Straight and proud but without being stiff. She is solid as the earth and fluid as the rains washing over it. Her silence could rival the [i]Anemoi[/i]. The stalemate lasts for long moments that can only be measured by how many shallow breaths can be taken before the galaxy stirs to motion again. She breaks the wall between them by turning her back on her new maid. But then she reaches back and pulls up her hair, lifting it above her neck in a great, blue-black cascade.

She points at the floor by her feet, and knows without looking that she is Understood. She lifts her feet one at a time and steps into the confines of her new dress. The fabric is smooth and soothing against her fresh skin. Where it brushes against her fur, particularly where worshipping hands guide it there, it draws a soft sigh and something like a purr from the depths of her chest. Her arms lift automatically in just the way she remembers seeing to make it easier to finish fitting the garment onto her body. Back straight, tail tucked out of the way, waiting with the patience of a warrior's held spear for the signal to relax, release, and move again to accommodate the tying of the knots.

It takes a while. Redana's frills press against Bella while she works, followed closely behind by her own magnificent body. Bella makes no complaint and no cluck of impatience. What irritation remains beating in her heart, she works out through the flexing of her fingers and by breathing in the scent that now permeates the air. The sharp and soothing tones of Redana's skin mixed with her own signature perfume and splotches of spilled syrup. At long last. These sensations belong to her. They are given out as gifts for her to snatch and hold tight against her heart.

The knots are clumsy. She feels them cinch too tightly around her waist and knows from their presence and weight that Redana has chosen familiar ones instead of correct ones, and in choosing has marred the beauty of this perfect dress. Unseen, Bella opens her mouth to admonish, and then closes it again without a word.

What is she to do? Is this a test of some sort? An offer of retribution for what her life had turned out to be? There is no temptation in it. Condescension is a dagger she might wear at her hip, but every cruel or cutting thing that crawls across her mind does so with a memory belonging to a face or faces that disgust her to hold onto them. She looks down at her claws, sharp and full despite her attempts last night to trim them, and shakes her head. 

"Get me a chair, so you can actually reach my hair. And stick closer. This far back I can't feel you working. If we're going to do this I..."

Her breath catches. Her body grows warm. Bella's neck turns away to look at the wall, even though she still hasn't set eyes on Redana since this began.

"Love me, Redana. Worship me. With your body [i]and[/i] your heart. I have no use for a maid who can't do both."

Oh Hera, is it the dream of every abused creature to grow strong enough to be the abuser? Or can the scales be balanced by softer measures? Don't hot and trembling hands that need instruction on how to weave any hairstyle more complicated than a ponytail a better show of penance? Aren't small, soft breasts pressed close enough against her back to feel the heart beating underneath them a greater payment than any whip or hurt that she could manage?

I waited my entire life to have you. I was prepared to burn the stars out of the skies to have you back. I chased, I yearned, I destroyed myself for less than a sliver of what you're offering now. But now that it's mine, I won't take less than everything you have to give. Don't you dare hold back. Don't you blush or shy away now, Your Highness. Thrill if you want this. Speak up if you don't. But don't you dare do anything to take last night away from me, not now and not ever.

She doesn't speak a word of this aloud. Private thoughts manifest as knots in her neck to be massaged out of her by careful, tender hands. She sits and she endures the tugging of her hair, and the tiny swears that punctuate each little mistake. Fueled by pancakes, she sits and waits for Redana to be satisfied with the braid she is attempting to weave. She doesn't even offer a word of criticism when Redana pulls the whole thing loose after wasting minutes on the struggle and switches tracks to lovingly brushing her locks into silken smoothness instead. As if she were deciding that there was no improving on the natural perfection of her mistresses' body.

"Mmm, very good. Now sit still and let me fix yours, you sloppy thing. And turn and face the mirror while I do it, so you can learn. Don't talk back! Mistress knows best, right?"

No. No scales can be balanced by any bright acts of bravery, nor of love. And even if they could, the crimes they would absolve were long since washed to the point of filth by planets' worth of blood. But if the universe was so keen on delaying her punishment, then... endure it, Redana. The desire to put her fingers through your hair and make you beautiful again has burned so hot and so long that it can never be put out again. 

Give up your dreams, and give her this. Let her make you the envy of every other maid in the universe. And after that... after that, do as you will. Take her anywhere, do anything, as long as it's together. Do not waste what little time the galaxy has allotted you and she for happiness before it steps back in to take it all away.