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So, not much of a youngling then, though youngling seems misleading; youngling did not designate age, but rather a period of anywhere from zero to 30 years after being turned. This youngling looked to be in her 30s when she was turned. How much longer she lived after that was a mystery. Regarding the brood mother, this was the adopted mother of a feral youngling. Brood mother, father, it mattered little who took responsibility of a feral youngling so long as they fulfilled that responsibility. If a brood mother was willing to risk her own existence to save that of a feral youngling, it was likely this youngling was well beyond the use of the collar. Still, the brood mother kept her in it until the last possible moment, and this raised questions. The elder considered pursuing this new line of questioning, though hesitated, as he remained set on uncovering what transpired during his rest. It was likely the answer would reveal itself in due time, though he was unsure how much of what he thought he needed to know would be brought to light by the woman before him. His curiosity got the better of him, however.

“Why were you still assigned to a collar when you were placed in hibernation?”

The youngling considered this for a moment. Edgar waited as the temperament flashing across her eyes changed in an assortment of ways. She was very good at schooling her face, maintaining a calm expression. Her eyes, however, indicated a great amount of mental activity. It appeared she weighed her thoughts carefully, though he had no way of knowing their contents. She spoke after a few moments of silence.

“I wanted to remain my brood mother’s slave.”

This is not at all what he expected. Perhaps an oversight on the part of her handler, perhaps there was some obstinate trait that remained; but a confession of sorts? He wondered, briefly, if she was attempting to mislead or cajole him into a jest at his expense. She continued, interrupting his thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking, that I’m either stupid, lying, or pulling your leg, but I’m not.” Isabelle began pacing her cell, making small circles on foot in the confined space. “The way she handled me at the beginning, it awoke something in me. I liked it. And—," she struggled for a moment, as if tasting, savoring something in her mouth, "Ceras. Yes, Ceras. She was unlike anyone I’d ever met; I fell in love with her.” She paused for a moment, returned to the plastic bench and took a seat, once again crossing her legs. “I was willing to do anything for her.” She looked up. “Anything. And she let me.”

Continued after the break

So this woman had found the perfect opportunity to fully exercise her fantasies. It was not uncommon for coven members to establish bonds of a particular taste and nature with one another and publicly express them. Leashes, masks, obligatory nudity, and other such activities were on display at all hours and on most levels, with the exception of the top floor. Most younglings who developed a taste for the collar often traded one for another: the Screech for leather or vinyl. But not so this one. The elder chose not to dwell on the matter. Human—and by extension to some degree, humanoid—psychology was not in his realm of expertise. He knew Ceras. She was one of the finest in bringing younglings out of the collar and into civil coven life. No matter; how it happened that she and this woman developed a relationship was none of his concern.

He stood and walked toward the cell controls. “I think you may be right: the collar is unnecessary. I yet need to make that determination for myself in full, which means you’ll continue to wear it. However, regardless of what inclinations toward myself may be brewing in your mind, I have no intention of stepping into the place of Ceras where your … prior habits and behaviors are concerned.” He turned a stern eye on her.

Isabelle stopped and shrugged, dropping the matter of defending her lifestyle choices. The elder opened the terminal and a moment later the cell and security doors popped open. “That’s fine,” she said as she stepped into the corridor and walked out of the cell block.

“Grand.” Edgar turned around and made his way to the stairwell outside the resort, Isabelle following close behind. “The first order of business is to find you clothing, though given the manor’s state of disarray, I doubt this will be easy to accomplish. In the meantime, as your recall improves, please provide me with details of what you remember. Any of it may be of some benefit.”

“Of course.”

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