A/N: As usual, I would recommend putting the video on loop.
That's an interesting point that you raise my little doe. How come my way of thinking is warped and yours isn't? What if it's the other way around? I'm just doing what I feel is best to keep you here. I'm protecting what's valuable to me at all costs. You even admitted that you would protect something extremely well if the thing in question was of incredible value to you. That's what I'm doing, so how is that wrong?
"It's wrong because I'm not a thing; I'm not some object without any thoughts or feelings. This is wrong because you're not taking my feelings or thoughts into account. Do I want to stay here? No, I want to live my dream of being an artist and hear back on my art piece that I sent out. You're keeping me from doing that."
You wish to be an artist? You're performing a type of art right now: carving. Unless you prefer a certain type of medium, do you?
"My specialty is painting or drawing. Why do you care?"
I care because I want to make you as happy as I can during your stay here. I enjoy the time that I spend with you, and I desire for you to feel the same. As long as you don't try to escape, there shouldn't be a problem. Regardless if those are your media of interest, why don't you draw something for me, while I work on my project? Maybe, you could draw me even.
"Right, and why would I want to draw you?"
Simple, you might be able to capture what I actually look like. You would be able to have a rough image of what I look like. Wouldn't you like to put a face to me, my little doe? I'll even tell you my characteristics, and what I'm wearing.
"And, what if you're lying?"
What does it matter? It's not like any harm will come to you from a lie about my appearance. Besides, why would I wish to give you false information on such a thing? All this time, I've desired for you to see what I actually look like. I'm tired of you just seeing a monkey.
"Fine, I'll go grab some supplies and a chair," she muttered out, leaving the garage and entering the kitchen. Once she had the items that she wanted, she came back into the garage. After she set the chair down, she took a seat and looked to him for the details.
As he described them, she took them down. Based off of his description, he really did sound attractive. Of course, she wouldn't tell him that, but she assumed that he was probably exaggerating. Whatever the case, she went to work on the picture and drew everything to the point that he detailed to her.
Drem continued to work on his project, throwing out another unsuccessful one. His new one seemed to be improving, but she couldn't really tell, since she didn't know what he was trying to carve. Midway through this, he set down his work and headed into the kitchen to presumably make her lunch. Her stomach had growled a few times in the past fifteen minutes after all.
When he left, she leaned back a little and stretched, her (e/c) eyes surveying her current work. Personally, she thought that she was doing a stellar job, but she would need his opinion. The picture wasn't finished, however, since she needed to shade it still. Right now, he looked to have a rather flat portrayal of himself, and his hair, which was supposed to be thick and a bright auburn, was quite lifeless.
Her focus shifted from her drawing, though, to the still open garage door. He was in the kitchen, but the door leading into the house was left open. Would she be able to make it? She listened to the sounds in the kitchen and heard that there were quite a few of them. So, he probably would be in there for a little while longer.
Abruptly, though, the noises stopped and the cold in the air increased. She wondered what had happened, as she remained seated. Had he somehow known that she was debating on escape again? Then again, how could he have determined that when he was in the other room?
Picking up the sounds of people talking and the sound of the garage door closing, she pieced his actions together. She didn't recognize the voices, but she did know that they were near enough where she could call for help. That was the case until the garage door shut fully. Well, there went the opportunity of escape or shouting out for help.
Faintly, she could hear the two women's voices, but it didn't matter. Should she even try to get their attention by yelling or banging on the garage door, Drem would perform some consequence on her. Her attention soon turned to the pen, which began to write across his piece of paper.
It's good thing that I came in here when I did; you looked like you were about to hop out of your seat. Honestly, my little doe, you should know better by now, but I didn't catch you running. So, I'll let you off the hook and bring in a better light. I imagine drawing in this dull illumination isn't very helpful. Before that, I'll just add some things to your chair.
She couldn't put up any resistance, as she was swiftly strapped to the chair with pieces of fabric, which were secured to the wooden object by nails. (F/n) could still move her arms, but she couldn't reach the tools necessary to remove the nails anymore. Drem had made sure of that. All she could get to was her pencil and her drawing.
His pen moved across his paper again. Be a good little doe, while I'm away. A scowl formed on her lips, as she crossed her arms, but she was caught off guard soon after. Cold touched her left cheek and lingered there for awhile before it left. The chill in the air decreased a little bit, and she brought her left hand to her cheek.
Rubbing it, she tried to remove the feeling, since she assumed that he had kissed her there. At least, it wasn't on the lips. Her focus returned to her present predicament of being stuck to a chair. Well, it could've been worse. Had she been caught running for it, she would most likely have scrapes all along her skin from the cement.
Now, she could attempt to remove the nails with her fingers, but she doubted that would end well. She would most likely end up with ruined fingertips and a pissed off Drem. There was also the option of ripping the fabric, but it was quite heavy duty. Frankly, all she could probably do was hope that Drem would remove the restraints soon.
Annoyed at this, she just reached forward and grabbed her drawing and pencil. She went back to work until a windup lantern was placed in front of her. She wound it and continued on the drawing. A few moments later, a late lunch was presented to her. It consisted of clam chowder and crackers with a bowl of strawberries on the side. Normally, she wouldn't touch clam chowder, but it was food, and she was hungry. With all things considered, she put her project aside and began to eat.
The taste of the chowder wasn't terrible, but it wasn't the best thing either. In all honesty, though, Drem could choose to starve her at any point in time. Instead, he was preparing her meals for her. Granted, she did miss the option of being able to choose what she wanted to eat.
Completing her meal, she pushed the dishes aside before they were taken into the kitchen. (F/n) paid attention to her drawing once more, and the day pressed on. By six in the evening, she was done with her masterpiece. It was a pity that it had to be a picture of Drem. "I'm done," she announced, setting her paper and pencil down. The male placed down his tools and project.
(F/n) felt a sharp cold on both of her shoulders, as the picture was held up in front of her face. Some wisps of cold hit her left ear, as words appeared on his paper. Good job, but it's a little off. My hair is a tad bit shorter, and my jaw isn't so chiseled. I have a much younger look to my face. My appearance is that of only a twenty-one year-old, not a thirty year-old. More wisps of chilly air hit her ear, and she presumed that he was laughing. There was a slight amount of heat rising to her cheeks in embarrassment at how much older she drew him, but it wasn't like he gave her precise descriptions of his facial structure.
Besides, she was aiming for twenty-six, not thirty. Evidently, she had drawn him to look even older than that. To her, the picture looked like that of a twenty-six year old. Apparently, she was supposed to go for that of a twenty-one year-old. She guessed that it made sense if the incident occurred five years ago.
Still, I like it. I'll make sure to keep it close.
"Yeah, you do that," she replied, turning her gaze to his work. "So, will you tell me what you're creating now? Or, is it still going to be a surprise because, frankly, I can't figure out what you're making. Are those supposed to be hands and feet?" she inquired, pointing to the small stubs on the carving.
Shoulders being relieved of the cold, she read, Yes. Raising an eyebrow at this, she thought back to him stating that he wanted her to see what he really looked like. If those were supposed to be hands and feet, then it would make sense if he was attempting to carve a doll. Obviously, though, carving figurines wasn't a talent of his. "It's probably going to take you more than a day to get the carving to even look like a doll, Drem."
I know. I'm becoming more aware of that. Practice makes perfect, though.