Iris

...was to register you.

Red Light District didn't have much of a policy on their human trafficking considering that there was way too much of it for them to keep an eye on everyone. They had rules, yeah, you had to register your slaves and make sure they were in the system, but no one was gonna come after you if you didn't. How would they even know? Even when the officers came around to check every house for slave activity that hadn't been registered, all it took was a slave dressed up in nicer clothes and cleaned up a little, and that took three minutes. The head of the house would open the door and say "Hello, officer" and that was the cue for whoever else was living there to real quick swap out the slave clothes with regular clothes and wash the face, if needed, and then when the officers came in to search the house they'd find only the other people living there, no slave in sight, and it was that simple.

Out here, we had no reason to not register slaves. Not many of us owned one, and the ones that did had nothing to fear as they weren't doing anything illegal with their slaves, like using them as sex objects. I knew of quite a few of my neighbors who had slaves that helped with the agriculture, and they were always happy and always well-fed. They weren't even slaves as much as other members of the family. More than once I'd seen the children of the house out in the small fields we were allotted playing with the slaves and helping them out. It was a very relaxing way of life here, and you seemed to notice that when we took you outside for the first time.

You couldn't see, of course. The only things you could see were occasional smears of color, you told us. But you could hear the laughing, and you could hear the whisper of the wind through the grain fields. One corner of your mouth quirked up in what could constitute as a smile.

"This is a safe place," I reminded you. "No one is going to hurt you here. I promise."

You still had trouble expressing your emotions. They were locked so deep inside of you that you could probably barely remember what it felt like to scream or to hug someone with all of the love in the world or to collapse on the floor crying because the world was so cruel.

I made sure to hug you often. So you wouldn't have to wonder what any of those felt like.

I took you to see Sylph, one of our neighbors that owned a strawberry field. She was only a few years older than me, yet she was probably the richest in our little community considering how many people loved strawberries. When she saw the two of us coming, she ran down the path leading into the fields, her basket swaying from her arm, her other arm raised high in a greeting. Sylph was one of those people that didn't seem to have an off switch. She was perpetually in one extreme of emotion or the other. There was no in-between with her.

When she got closer and saw you beside me, she cocked her head. "Who's this?" she asked.

I was glad we had cleaned you up. You were wearing some of Dad's old clothes. A white blouse, a waistcoat, and black trousers. You'd tried to protest at first but I'd given you a stern look and I guess you could feel it even if you couldn't see it. From that point on, you'd let Dad dress you in his clothes and you hadn't said a word. When you were finished, I came back into the room and I couldn't believe how much you'd changed. Your wounds were washed out to the point where they were just pink or red lines, no blood caking them. You were clean and pale and full of sunshine, I could tell. You were comfortable again. We'd managed to keep any infection from setting in or spreading and it was obvious you were so much happier than you had been.

Sylph's not judgmental, but I know that if she saw you before you'd been cleaned up there would have been quite a number of questions.

"His name's Kellin," I said.

You nodded once. "Hullo, ma'am." Then you bowed. It was extremely formal which I took a little pride in. You were one of the most well-behaved slaves I'd ever seen. You knew what being uncomfortable around people felt like and so that's how you reacted, very formal and distant, and I loved it. Over time I'd turn it from you feeling like every non-slave was out to get you into just plain manners, which I was sure was some of the reason anyway. Red Light obviously beat the lesson of manners into you from the way you reacted with Dad and I.

Sylph was delighted. "Hello, Kellin. I'm Sylph - one of Iris's friends." She glanced at me, then back at Kellin. "Why don't the two of you come on into the fields? This year's been a good harvest and I'm sure I can spare a little for a morning snack."

We followed Sylph as she strode up the path. I could tell she was dying to know who Kellin really was and where I'd found him, but she was polite. She wouldn't ask outright, at least not with Kellin around. I distratced myself by watching the ripples of her dark hair as she walked. At least, that was the distraction until I caught you sniffing the air, your eyes wide. I saw the point of your tongue as you licked the inside of your lip.

"They're strawberries," I told you. "Fruit. I don't know if you've ever eaten one. They're very good, especially the ones Sylph grows. Oh look, there's Onen."

Onen was Sylph's slave, a young girl about twelve with hair so (appropriately) strawberry blonde that it almost didn't look human. Since she had grown up with Sylph ever since the two of them were very young, she tended to match Sylph's personality - she'd appear to be one extreme or the other regarding her moods. She was playful like a little girl, though, when she wanted to be. The rest of the time she tried to be as dignified and formal as Sylph unintentionally was.

She bounded out of the house, barefoot, her hair flying, and rounded the corner to run up to us. She curtsied respectfully at Sylph and said, "Lady Sylph, may I greet the visitors?"

It was more of a formality than anything else. Onen could have tackled us in a flying hug and Sylph wouldn't have minded. She acted that way when there were no visitors, as Sylph had told me - the two of them were like sisters. Still, Sylph said, "Yes, Onen, you may" and Onen came up to us and curtsied as well. "Lady Iris," she said, then turned to Kellin. "What's your name, stranger?"

"Kellin, ma'am," you said quietly, tentatively.

"It's alright, Kellin, she's like you," I told you.

"That's alright." Onen curtsied again even though you couldn't see it. "Master Kellin. My name is Onen. I serve Lady Sylph. May I request a proper introduction?"

You turned to me. "Uhm," I said, very un-ladylike, "sure. Uh. Go ahead. The two of you can talk and Sylph and I will gather some strawberries for tea." You looked unsure, so I rested my fingers on the sleeve of your blouse and said, "Really, it's alright. I want you to meet other people. Don't be afraid to ask Onen for anything. She knows the house."

"I could get you something to drink," Onen chirped, all smiles. It was obvious she wasn't used to other slaves, not your kind, at least. Not the ones that dressed like masters of the house. Onen herself was in a pretty little sundress, but it was nothing compared to the formal gowns Sylph could afford to wear. Sylph's profits were rising, though, and soon enough she'd be able to clothe Onen in the same expensive clothing that she wore in public. For now, she had to make do with what normal little girls her age would wear.

You shifted your weight a little, and that was enough for her. She latched onto your wrist and pulled you along the path. She didn't look back, but you did. You met what I guess you thought were my eyes but was really the tree in the front yard and gave a small two-fingered wave with a little bit of a smile.

I waved back. I hope you know that.

Once you and Onen were in the house, Sylph turned to face me. "Now tell me all about that pretty little thing and how you came about owning him."