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Kajira Reflections Pt 2

~ Beyond the Glass ~

July, 2004

Looking deeper into the mirror, beyond the surface of the glass to what lies within the slave gazing back at me…
I see a depth to the eyes. They may truly be the windows to the soul, but these windows are shuttered more often than not. She has come a long way in learning to trust again, learning to open the shades and allow her Master and others to look to the interior of her being. There is still a very long road ahead of her. There are things about her that her Master does not know… Or perhaps he does, though she has never spoken them. She wonders if the most terrible secrets she carries would cause him to go away…to discard her… Or if he would understand that those crimes were committed in another life.
Those lips, full and sensual, so much more prone now to tremble and betray her emotions, but still more than capable of becoming that thin, hard, cruel line that betrays nothing more than hardness…the refusal to feel, to show weakness or vulnerability… "never let them see you sweat". When will she let go of those defenses? Will she ever, fully?
Her high cheekbones and the sprinkling of freckles disguise the place high on her left cheek where the skin bears an abrasion scar…from the time the belt hit her face a little too hard with the rough side. She was 12. "It was her fault. She wouldn't keep still". And the place where her left eyebrow just wont lie down, because of the scar tissue there. That scar extends to the hollow between her left eye and the side of her nose, making the shape a little funny and making that spot a little darker. She used to try and cover it with makeup before she realized that it only made it more noticeable. In reality, it is barely visible even on close inspection. But she sees it. She doesn't even remember if that one was from an accident, a fight or her father. She wonders sometimes, and half hopes, half dreads that the memory will eventually surface. She isn't sure if she really wants to know.
Her nose is a little crooked too. Again, not too noticeable at a glance, but still, like the rest, she sees it. It used to be worse, but the 3rd time it was broken, it actually healed up straighter than the first 2 times. A small favor. Another scar, just below her right ear. She again recalls the night it was created. She was stupid. She and her little druggie buddies decided to rob a convenience store.
A fraction of an inch… a zig instead of a zag as she was running… a better marksman, and the bullet would have entered her skull, rather than grazing her flesh. Just one of many times she courted death. On the surface, she is far beyond all of that, and that is true in many regards, but it is never really all that far away. That life lurks in the shadows, just around a corner, ready to take hold again at the first opportunity.
She has the fiery spirit to go with the hair. She used to have the temper too, but she has learned to control that for the most part. She still speaks and acts without thinking a lot and while the results are generally most unpleasant, they are, at least, seldom catastrophic. She has not intentionally harmed herself or another in many years.
The collar. Her Master's collar… She wonders often, if she truly deserves to wear it. He assures her that she does… that if she didn't, she wouldn't, but she is still plagued by doubt more frequently than she would like. "Was that word REALLY a need, or was she manipulating.. topping from the bottom?", "Could that discussion have waited until he brought it up, IF he chose to?", "Did she actually consider what her Master would have her do in that decision, or did she delude herself so that she could do as she pleased?" the list could go on forever. Often, she feels like the worst slave ever. Those she interacts with in real life tell her and her Master what a superb slave she is. And she would like to believe them, but there is that inner nagging… "She could have been better, therefore she wasn't good enough." And then there are the comments of those who have never even met her. Those who judge her fully based on an instance or 2 of pressing a button on the keyboard before thinking enough. "You have already shown your true colors!" "You are worthless" "Subbie brat princess". She knows those words are not true. She knows that many of those people have never even MET a slave in real life, much less owned one. She knows that those attitudes are hallmarks of role- players. Her Master and other Masters, Mistresses and slaves she respects and who, like she does, live this every day of our lives, have reminded her many times. Still, those words slice deeper than those who fling them could possibly imagine. I know…"they are just words", but truly, words can hurt far more than physical blows ever will.
But I digress.
As the collar she wears is a symbol of her surrender to her Master, her other neckwear betokens her spiritual path and surrender; the turning over of her will and life to powers greater than herself. She owes much of her success in becoming a better person, a person she loves, likes and respects today, to these forces on her path.
Continuing… Her breasts, so lovely, were once despised by her. So much so that she planned on having them removed or at least greatly reduced. They were part of what made her female, something that she abhorred at that time in her life. She bound them tightly flat against her chest every day. She thought to be female was to be weak and helpless and she wanted no part of that! She disguised her femaleness well for nearly 3 years. She so hated being female and, thus, to her mind, prey, that she wished to actually become male. She thought she was ugly as a female, but that didn't stop her from being victimized, so she felt that denying her femininity was the only answer. She has since come to realize that it was her own self hatred, not her gender that made her prey. She has learned that she can be fully a woman, beautiful and feminine and be strong and sure at the same time. She is a slave. She is not weak. She is strong enough to lay her strength at the feet of the man who owns her. That is not the act of a weak person. It is an act of faith and trust, both traits lost on the weak. She no longer has to prove her might, thereby displaying her fear. She is content to have it in reserve, should she have need for it.
She is still sometimes self conscious about the fat she has in excess in her midsection, but it is usually fleeting. She notices the criss crossing of scars on her arms much less now too, but still notices them. They are an outward reflection of the scars she carries inside. The multitude of grief and loss she has endured over the years. Wounds inflicted by others, herself, circumstance, life in general. She realizes today that all of those experiences are what makes her the person she is, and she is glad to be that person, so she accepts with gratitude the events that have led to this.
She is still more quick to question than she is to obey much of the time. She still does not trust completely. She is still sometimes selfish. She is far from perfect and will always be so, but she has grown more than she ever thought possible in many lifetimes, let alone a small portion of this one, so she is grateful. She knows that the day there is nothing left for her to learn will be the day she dies. She no longer wishes to hasten that day. That, in itself is a miracle. So, even upon deeper reflection, the slave in the mirror is my friend. More than ever before.

© Khaos WolfKat 2004


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