"I'm coming out now. Do NOT look at me."

"...mm. Yes. That will make the task just a tiny bit ... impossible. Amanda, how many times must I assure you, I have no interest in you beyond that of a necromancer and his undead charge—"

"THERE, right there, you just did it again, 'his undead', like you own me! Could you just possibly NOT?"

Praetorian rested his face in his hands and allowed himself a moment of weariness. He was sitting in the main room of the cottage he shared with Amanda, a cosy little space with a stone floor and wooden fittings, and a nice sturdy table perfect for his requirements ... if he could just coax his patient out.

"Darkcede? Did you hear? I was saying that you don't own me—"

"Methinks," Praetorian said, perhaps a little more harshly than he had intended, "the lady doth protest too much. If I use a word like 'master' or 'servant' or refer to you as 'mine' then I can assure you—as I have done so very many times before—that I mean absolutely nothing by it, it is the habit of a lifetime, they are words of convenience—"

"Then, then use something different, use different words, don't say 'servant', don't say I'm 'yours'—"

"But this is petty pedantry, what difference does it make—"

"It matters! It's an important difference!"

Praetorian sighed. "Amanda. Amanda Willow. I understand that you're perhaps feeling ... vulnerable—"

"Don't do that, don't start doing that, I hate it when you do that!"

"Oh, I'm doing something now," Praetorian said to his hands. "I wonder what it could be."

"Being reasonable, it always starts off okay then leads somewhere weird and creepy, just ... I don't know, is this really necessary?"

"Well, if you consider retaining your sensibilities and not having bits of yourself start dropping off 'necessary'—Amanda, if you had just come out when I first asked this would already be over. Suffer the indignity, suffer the embarrassment, suffer whatever you must suffer but let's just get this over with."

"...but you're not going to look, right?"

"You have a choice, I can do this by sight or I can do this by touch, which would you prefer?"

Silence from Amanda. Praetorian was just about to say something further when the sound of soft footsteps caught his ear, and Amanda emerged from her room with her head lowered, dark straggly hair covering her face. Aside from her ever-bandaged arms she wore only a wrap around her breasts and linen underwear, her blue-hued skin exposed. Without her ragged and unflattering dress Amanda's form was impossible to hide; she had a strong, shapely physique, only spoiled by dozens of bloodless marks and unhealed wounds.

Praetorian stared, breath caught, eyes wide.

Amanda raised her head, just enough to see him.

"What are you doing? You're staring at me! You—"

"Dear gods," Praetorian murmured. "Dear goodness, hope and truth. I didn't realise ... Amanda, you are in FAR worse shape than I ever expected, how could you keep this from me? Quickly, upon the table, lie flat ... I hardly know where to begin, your chest alone—and your back, you were run through! Clear through, and with ... yes, a silver weapon, dear gods above, Amanda, you should not be standing. Lie down now, please do, I cannot bear to see you in such a state."

Amanda allowed Praetorian to guide her to the table, allowed him to help her lie upon it, on her back, then flinched and tensed as he examined her many wounds.

"I should not have delayed this," he muttered, summoning a dark needle and shadow thread. "I should not have given weight to your sense of modesty, I should not have trusted you—this hole through your chest alone—"

"It's fine," Amanda muttered. "It doesn't even hurt."

"Of course it doesn't, you stupid girl! You won't feel pain, you won't feel anything! Numbness, comfort, THESE are the warning signs and I have been as lax in noticing them as you—more so, FAR more so, you are ignorant, it was my responsibility to look for these things, I should have conducted a thorough examination as soon as you came into my possession—"

"'Possession', stop using those words! I am NOT YOURS—"

"YES YOU ARE!"

Amanda stared up at Praetorian as he glared down at her.

"You are MY responsibility, you are MINE to care for, it is my DUTY to ensure that your binding remains intact and your spirit remains safely nestled within this shell." Praetorian shook his head angrily as he began pushing needle and thread through Amanda's cold dead flesh. "You don't understand—why would you? You have no expertise in this matter, no experience, not a glimmer of insight into the intricacies and prescripts of undeath, your sole qualification for this state of being was to die—to be killed, by the looks of these wounds. Which is ... which is, in fact ... intriguing."

Amanda had gritted her teeth and was looking away, but now ... now she continued to look away, but her jaw relaxed and she made a low rumble deep in her throat before speaking:

"What is?"

"These wounds ... from perhaps a sword, a large sword, and a spear, and ... magic. These are what killed you, I am sure of this, the difference is subtle but present, these particular injuries were suffered while you lived and yet ... and yet whoever raised you left them untended. This despite the excellent job they did of binding you." Praetorian shook his head again, hands working automatically, gaze fixed on Amanda's wounds as he continued: "This makes no sense to me. No one of worth would have left these wounds in this state. Even to see such flaws in perfection causes me pain."

Amanda clicked her teeth together as Praetorian focused on healing her, the dull sensation of the needle and thread pushing through her flesh uncomfortable but far from unbearable. After near a minute of hesitance she spoke, still not looking at him:

"Perfection?"

"Well clearly. Look at you. Look at your body, the smoothness of your skin, the firmness of your muscles, even your skeleton is of superior quality. Most of the shambling wrecks in my homeland would die for such a form—if you'll excuse the expression. You are in fine shape, and finely bound, which only compounds the mystery of your current existence; why a glumgirl, of all classes? Why not a corpsecleaver, why not a deadbrawler, even a simple walker would have made more sense—Amanda, I say this with a certain amount of expertise behind my words; in life you were a warrior."

Amanda responded to this with a small grunt, although that may have been at the needle passing through her flesh. Praetorian was working on the savage hole in her chest, the unhealed wound left by the spear that had pierced her heart.

After a minute Praetorian stopped, tied off the section he had finished, and cleared his throat:

"In order to continue this bandage wrap must be moved. Perhaps you should do it, I'll look away until you've, er, 'repositioned' yourself."

Praetorian stared at a spot on the opposite wall as he listened to the small sounds behind himself.

"Do you truly not remember anything?" he asked, still looking away. "Nothing of who you were before?"

"...if I really try I can remember talking to Nala in that little dungeon thing. Even that's fuzzy."

"Hm. Unusual. At the least you should have, how to explain them ... glimpses. Insights, perhaps. Vague, maddeningly unhelpful, painfully nostalgic and yet ever present, the fragments of a song, the colour of a loved one's eyes, the warmth of sun on the skin through the leaves of a favoured tree ... nothing like that?"

There was a soft noise, and Praetorian realised that Amanda was shaking her head.

"That is odd," he murmured. "Especially considering how intact your personality appears to be—and your speech is near perfect, your movements ... awkward of course, characteristically stiff, but even so..."

Amanda cleared her throat.

"I'm, uh ... you can keep going now. If this is okay."

Praetorian glanced back, then turned. Amanda had pushed down the bandages and was covering her breasts with her hands.

"Fine, if you're comfortable."

"I'm really, really not."

"Aha. I'll be as swift and discrete as possible, that I promise."

To call the silence that followed 'awkward' or 'strained' or even 'painful' would be an understatement—but the injury was severe, or had been, and to repair the damage was not a simple task, and as the minutes stretched on and the tension grew Praetorian felt he must say something or burst, and so he said:

"Your eyes were blue."

To which Amanda replied:

"What?"

"When you lived. It's hard to tell now, they have that dull, not-really-any-colour-at-all quality to them, but when you were alive ... you had blue eyes. Perhaps quite pretty." And then, because he was Praetorian, he followed this with: "Not now of course, in your current state you couldn't possibly be called attractive by anyone with anything resembling taste, but perhaps once you were beautiful. Not to my preference, I favour the more petite, more delicate-featured—"

"Yes shut up now thank you."

"I'm only saying—"

"If I could move my hands you would be so slapped right now, so very slapped."

And so Praetorian shut up, you're welcome, and several awkward minutes later he turned away again, and Amanda rolled over, and Praetorian blew out a long breath as he examined the raw hole left by the spear's exit.

"This is atrocious," he muttered. "Truly atrocious."

Amanda said nothing, but her body jerked as Praetorian slid his needle into her back.

"Did that hurt?" he asked, sharp eyebrows raised.

"...a little. But just keep going, get this finished."

"You are unusually sensitive," Praetorian murmured, as he continued his gentle sealing of Amanda's death. "Further proof as to the expertise of your raiser. The mere fact alone that this wound has not decayed, that the binding is for the most part intact around it ... I've rarely seen this kind of skill."

Amanda said nothing, and as Praetorian worked the pain lessened until she barely flinched at all. With every stitch she felt a growing warmth, discomfort so constant that she'd not even noticed it fading, leaving only a sense of relief. Despite this she showed nothing, remained silent, her dark expression unchanged.

"There," Praetorian said, eventually, finally. "And thank goodness. Now then, while you're like this—"

"No. Turn away, I want to ... just turn away."

"Of course, if you—"

"Now."

Praetorian turned, listening as Amanda re-repositioned her bandages.

"We may have to split this into two sessions," he said. "I haven't even begun on your puncture wounds—"

"No. Just do it all now."

"It's just that this IS rather draining, small wounds are but a trifle but these major injuries—"

"Suffer whatever you have to suffer, just DO it."

"Ah, you throw my own words back at me, truly you are so harsh. Which of us is the servant and which of us is the master? The line becomes ever-blurred."

Amanda muttered something as Praetorian resumed his work, tending now to a long slice through her side.

"Pardon?" he said. "Did you say something?"

Silence was Amanda's only reply. Praetorian sighed a little.

"Those bandages covering your arms," he said, in an attempt to relieve tension. "Did you know they were magical?"

Amanda said nothing, just kept staring at the wall.

"Nothing spectacular, simple enchantments to aid your binding and prevent rot and so forth, a small defensive bonus ... unsophisticated, but finely woven. Rather subtle actually, I didn't notice until I had to reattach your arm that one time. The fact that they repaired themselves after being cut was rather a giveaway, perhaps you noticed."

Amanda continued both her silence and her minute examination of the wall.

"They, er ... they may be the reason you haven't gone hollow. I'd keep them on, if I were you. They rather suit you in any case. Something of a charm point, or a point of interest at least."

"Could you just hurry up and finish."

"I am doing this as quickly as possible, I have no more desire to extend this chore than you do—"

"I'm so sorry to be such a burden, maybe you should just command me to hurl myself off the edge of this island."

"Of course I would never do that—"

"If you did would I do it?"

"Well, er..."

"Oh good, so you literally have the power of life and death over me, so wonderful to know that."

"It's true that I influence you to some degree, but ... perhaps not that strongly."

"So how strongly DO you 'influence' me? Huh? What could you make me do?"

"I, well—"

"Could you force me to say something?"

"...possibly."

"Force me to hurt myself? Break my own fingers, tear off my arm?"

"Really, even using the word 'force'—"

"Could you?"

"Perhaps I could, but we'll never know because I wouldn't ever—"

"So what about other stuff? What about sex?"

"Oh honestly, must your mind turn—"

"I don't even know if I, if I 'work' that way any more but—"

"You're beginning to be vulgar. If you must know then there are certain ... rituals, I suppose is the word—"

"So you could. That's great to know."

"I would never. Your opinion of me may be low but I would never."

"But you could."

"That's irrelevant—"

"It's not. You don't get it? You don't get how ... that at any time you could just tell me to, to—"

"I didn't command you to do this. To allow me to treat your wounds. This despite how vital I thought it to be. That must show you that I have respect for your autonomy—"

"So what."

"'So what'? If your goal is to push me into irritation then I shall offer you congratulations—"

"Oh you're irritated, what a hardship for you."

Praetorian drew in a breath as he returned to the task at hand, his mouth tight as he pushed needle through flesh.

"You have no understanding," he muttered. "No understanding of the weight I bear—"

"Huh."

"The weight of responsibility. You think me uncaring? You think me callow and selfish and, and base enough that I might possibly command you to ... to ... I cannot even bring myself to say the words—"

"You're the one who doesn't understand," Amanda mumbled, her dull eyes fixed on the wall. "It doesn't matter what you say because you could. It's just down to YOUR restraint, YOUR choice—"

"Restraint? Hardly! Even if I were ... that way inclined I would NOT, it would be akin to ... no, never, I would never command you to do anything that went so strongly against your will, just as I would never command you to harm yourself or otherwise put yourself in danger—really, I doubt such commands would even work, our bond is not strong enough, there are boundaries, there are limits, but you may be assured that I would never test those limits, never issue such irresponsible commands."

"Oh, RIGHT. You'd never put me in danger? Never test my limits? What about in Fauxgreen? When the girl you were clumsily trying to pick up turned out to be a psychotic merit-hunter? When you yelled 'GRAB HER HOLD HER' at me while you ran away?"

For long seconds Praetorian was silent, frowning at his sewing.

Then, "Ah."

Then, "So you remember that."

Then, "I had rather hoped you wouldn't."

Then, "I suppose I should apologise—"

"As if an apology from you is anything I'd value."

"Well, I ... I apologise anyway, I'm sorry, I suppose I panicked—"

"Whatever."

"Do rest assured that despite that incident I would never abuse the influence I hold over you, and that I do take the responsibility of your care seriously—"

"No. No, just shut up." Amanda shifted, not looking at Praetorian but speaking so he could see her face: "Do you know what I hate about you? There's a lot to choose from but I really hate that you're such a coward. That really gets to me."

"I ... I admit that I'm not the bravest of souls, certainly a degree of pragmatism is part of my core, but to use the word 'coward'—"

"You say all these things, you love these fancy words and stupid little melodramatic flourishes but when you're pushed you just fall down. You say I'm your responsibility but you don't care, not when it counts. Only when it's convenient and it makes you look noble or whatever. When you really had to take responsibility, when taking responsibility was difficult you just ran away." Amanda did look at Praetorian then, straight up at him, her eyes colder than undeath. "THAT is what I hate about you."

Praetorian had long since stopped his work, needle and thread held loose in his hands. He was staring down at Amanda's body, at the injuries he'd repaired and those yet unhealed.

After a time, Amanda lay back against the table, speaking into her crossed arms:

"But whatever. I'm stuck with you and you're stuck with me, neither of us like it and I bet there's stuff about me you hate so what does it matter. Keep fixing me up, if that makes you feel like you're taking good care of me, if that makes you feel 'responsible'."

"I ... I don't think you're being entirely fair—"

"Yeah but so what? Why are you even listening to me, I'm just a zombie, I'm worthless, right? Just a meat shield, good for soaking up damage and nothing else. Easy to fix if I get broken, though! Just sew me right up and push me back out again!"

Amanda raised her head, not quite looking at Praetorian, not quite not looking at him.

"So sew," she said. "Shut up and fix this stupid body I'm stuck with so we can get back to surviving."

Amanda lowered her head again, dull eyes staring at nothing.

Without a word, without a noise, Praetorian once more slid his needle through cold dead flesh, and he continued to repair his zombie's body.