I thought I would be more upset about losing the name my mother gave me at birth, but I find that I am not. I think, though, that if my name had been changed when my Master first collared me, it might have broken something in my spirit. Perhaps my Master understood that too, and chose to wait, though he had no obligation to do so. For that, I am grateful.
I am now called vexa, simply because I was his vexation in life. My name has become a reminder of how my life came to be, and perhaps another woman would be unhappy bearing such a name, but I am not. Why should I be? I was not an easy person to love, especially when my Master and I first met. I was to, cold.
The man has the patience ofโฆ well, honestly, I donโt know who or what to compare it to, for I have never known anyone or anything with the patience he possesses. I count myself blessed for it, even if I suspect I have tested that patience more times than I could ever count.
He loves me, and he knows that I love him. I am fairly certain he knew I loved him long before I came to understand it myself. Yet no matter how deeply we love one another, it does not change the fact that he owns me, and he owns me precisely as he desires.
I may not always like it, but I have learned that life in my Masterโs collar has its own lessons. One day, I may be the huntress stalking her prey, trusting in my skills and instincts to see the hunt through. The next, I may find myself the bait, placed where he wills me to be. My feelings about it do not change what I am to him, nor do they change his right to decide how I shall serve him.
He owns me as no other man ever could. My life is no longer mine to direct as I please. I live at his will, and though I may not always like what he asks of me, I know that I am loved by the man who holds my leash, and I know exactly whose I am.
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You, my huntress, I "ask" nothing; those days, are behind us now kajira.
Yes, my Master.