It was, in fact, a lingering need to please. But there was another part of the young woman that realized this was a shortcut, that doing this would help her be a better noble, be a better mage. And she smiled at the praise, as Ilaria promised to find a good donor. She imagined the donor would need to be someone with the knowledge and skills that Ilaria most preferred her maid to have.
A few days later, a donor had been plucked from the masses. Caesennia didn't know much about them, except that they were not from the slave class, nor were they from House Obsidian. But they were hand-selected, and she trusted they'd know what they were doing. They even had similar magics to her, and would share the knowledge about those magics and how to use them.
Truly, they were cutting corners.
The ritual happened late at night, the donor let themselves into Casey's mind, by force. They got a sense of who she was (and glimpses of what she knew), before they began to funnel everything they knew — even remotely — to the girl. They'd warned Ilaria, she might die. Had warned her, too.
But she'd insisted with a practiced smile. She was bound to a chair, so that she couldn't interrupt the process. It'd be painful, they'd said. And it was — she was rigid in her chair, silently crying, sometimes whimpering.
And eventually, she fell into silence, as if she couldn't figure out how to make a sound, overwhelmed by the knowledge being forcibly imparted upon her. Her breathing slowed, and once or twice her heart stammered.
A few hours passed, before the mind mage was done. They cleared their throat, addressing Ilaria,
@Ilaria Obsidian
A few days later, a donor had been plucked from the masses. Caesennia didn't know much about them, except that they were not from the slave class, nor were they from House Obsidian. But they were hand-selected, and she trusted they'd know what they were doing. They even had similar magics to her, and would share the knowledge about those magics and how to use them.
Truly, they were cutting corners.
The ritual happened late at night, the donor let themselves into Casey's mind, by force. They got a sense of who she was (and glimpses of what she knew), before they began to funnel everything they knew — even remotely — to the girl. They'd warned Ilaria, she might die. Had warned her, too.
But she'd insisted with a practiced smile. She was bound to a chair, so that she couldn't interrupt the process. It'd be painful, they'd said. And it was — she was rigid in her chair, silently crying, sometimes whimpering.
And eventually, she fell into silence, as if she couldn't figure out how to make a sound, overwhelmed by the knowledge being forcibly imparted upon her. Her breathing slowed, and once or twice her heart stammered.
A few hours passed, before the mind mage was done. They cleared their throat, addressing Ilaria,
She cares for you, quite a lot. You were what she guarded the hardest.They don't elaborate, or indicate if they'd broken past those defenses. They don't clarify what type of love they thought the girl held for her mistress, either.
She should wake up tomorrow. You may notice personality changes, bits of mine might have rubbed off on her. But it shouldn't be severe.With those words, the donor left Ilaria with the bound lady's maid, who was slumped against her restraints, wrists bruised from when she'd struggled. But for the moment, she was fast asleep.
@Ilaria Obsidian
10-18-2024, 08:15 PM
