Dinner is done but there are still the dishes. Piled high in the empty sink they mock the fact that the meal was delicious but they lay there waiting to be washed. Grace is defiant toward the quietness that surrounds her as she clears the kitchen and all her convictions are squashed.

Dissatisfaction is her only distraction. There is no equal ground and the hours outside of his pleasure are hers to squander. The simple notion of a handmaiden that waxes bare and parades in barely there attention is a question that is rarely asked and is next to never pondered and makes a person wonder.

The clock counts down the hours, creeping toward another day but still Grace is defiant toward the odds that she will recover an ounce of self loathing that she has bathed in and she waits, with bated breath until the time she can redeem herself in the eyes of the monster that has molded her actions and created her as a scourge of the Gods

Grace?
Are you coming to bed?
I’ve had a shave.
I’m well feed
I wanting you
here
by my side.
Why do you continue to hide?

She slips into the bathroom to examine her face, her body, her soul, in the mirror she can not hide from the mounting desire, the heady mixture of dominance that has beaten her down but picked her up from the ground to show her there is something higher than laying down

She showers and scrubs her skin with 3 different scents, each to disguise all the previous rules that she has bent and to mask her own unique allure where she stops being Grace and becomes something more pure. Last comes the outfit that makes her more than just Grace.

It’s Lace
His heart will race
She will become more than his disgrace