Her lips pursed as she watched the flame putter out on the candle's wick. The smoke drifted up and she leaned back onto her rear. She had been kneeling for the past five minutes when she noticed the candle flickering to death. The small corner was too small for her tastes. It was no longer acceptable that her shrine to the Mother was hiding in her house instead of outside where it belonged. She had found a hollowed out tree that would have worked beautifully for a shrine, as long as a shelf was placed into it. Even more wonderful was the fact that the tree was charred from a lightning strike or a fire of some sort so any candles would not set it flaming. It could be tucked against her home, so that she could pray and muse under the Mother's sky and open to her green breath.
Yet, Isabella found herself stuck. Her body was designed to give allure and make men eager for her touch. Her curvacious body was not made to move heavy things and to dirty her hands with charred tree hollows. The most her hands could dirty themselves with was gardening and trimming bushes for their flowers or scented leaves. A slave would have to be found to do this for her, a male one so that the work would go fast and she would not need to find herself a replacement. She really needed to get her own slave, a male one with the strength to move whatever she needed. But that would have to wait for now, since she desperately needed one to do her bidding. Normally, she would not have been glad to have a slave focused culture in her home but the Mother would forgive. And it was downright convenient.
The gypsy woman headed to the shack the slaves were given to live in when they weren't owned by anyone specifically. She desperately wanted someone who could simply do what she told him to and he would get it done. Even someone who could listen and do whatever she wanted him to do. It was simple. For now she was stuck getting a communal slave to do her bidding, but it was not the same. She did not want to go find one that was available. A personal one would always be on hand. Hands crossed and face serious, Isabella strolled to the slaves' home, hopefully to find a waiting slave.
Photo courtesy of john curley. Table by Kitty.
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