“Don’t rush me. I’m being as careful as I can,” I said, silently annoyed- though I could never stay mad long at her-, slowly working my calloused fingers through her beautiful silver-blonde mane of hair. She was so lucky.

She sighed. “I know, I know...”

I stared absently at the shafts of gold that danced in from the open window, illuminating her features. She looked nothing short of a goddess, queenly and timelessly pretty.

Beauty. It’s a dangerous thing to possess.

My hands deftly wove without me even thinking; an elaborate braid, snaking twice around her head (her hair was so long, it caressed her ankles at times). I ran a hand ruefully over my own cropped style, longing.

“Well, I’ve never exactly cut it,” she laughed, listening with ease to my ponderings. “Not that I’ve ever particularly wanted to,”

I was startled.

I kept forgetting about her.... let’s say.... abilities.

I hoped she hadn’t been tuned in for long: I hoped no one ever knew. I hoped with all of my young and free heart that it wasn’t obvious.

What kind of a maid falls in love with their master anyway?

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