There was so much in this world beyond the metal gates of this estate.  There was a world rich in more, twisted in shadows and blooming with life as the world should. However the ginger world was a bubble, a small bubble that only existed here. Before she had existed in another house and even that memory could be dull. For her all she knew was that without a master she would find herself back at another house and locked behind the door gathering dust. Her current world seemed more than big enough. There were plenty of rooms in this building and for many years she had not been forced to just one. The estate fanned out, there were gardens to explore, koi to feed, they had tried peacocks but they had a knack for screaming how they felt. Would Mr. Weaver be the same? The gardener did keep chickens, the arrival of these small wing creatures had taught her a handful of unexpected lessons at the ripe age of 11.<br/><br/>The chicken's ate the worms off the plants. This was useful, they provided eggs which were delicious. They looked cute when they were young, put to work when they menstruated. They plucked at you, they chased you, no one got close because they were not pets. You didn't get close to things that weren't pets so when they no longer had a use it didn't bother anyone to give their flesh one final dedication to their servitude and feast on them. Vivian had known before this that her Master was important and good to her but after thought had dawned on her one day she found herself taking the task of being an appealing pet to her master more seriously.<br/><br/>She had forgotten such a moment but it drew back on her as she peeked past the man and to the chef cracking her eggs and preparing the meals.<br/><br/>Still, deep down, it felt like a betrayal to do the same for her new caretaker.<br/><br/>Her attention was back on Mr. Weaver whose clothing were changing, a waterfall of colors that could be memorizing as much as it could be startling. She wondered what had him in such a tizzy, he was tapping on his lips, ticking away his thoughts. She was left to wonder how it worked, his clothing. It was spectacular how it reacted to him like a mood cloth. How much of this world did she not know, so much, so many beyond her bubble that were incredibly different. Was it wrong to be a bit excited about all she might learn with William as her Master.<br/><br/>The chef was back, her gaze drawn to the golden pancakes, sticky and sweet. The bacon looked crisp just the way she liked. She took the plate and glanced about spotting the wooden table in the corner that the previous chef would use for prepping and late night card games. She neatly took a seat and no sooner had she bit into the bacon that Mr. Weaver came upon her. From some magical place he had produced a dress, as to how she was quite uncertain. She stared at it hard for a moment, silent as she took in the fabric.<br/><br/>This, like his own clothing, managed this unnatural trick of the eye. The color was not it was but it was as she saw it in that moment. It was beautiful, and though she had much fabric in her closet it could not hope to touch on the artist craft that laid before her. She wanted to touch it, to feel it but then he turned it. She frowned, startled, almost upset as she saw the brush ingrained in the fabric. How was he to know?<br/><br/>The appeal was lost as she recalled the hands that had held the brush, had cared for her. She recalled the lonely feeling she had been left with in the weeks following as she waited for the house to fill again. She did not wish to find herself as lonely as she did the evening before. There had no sound in the home, no one to wish goodnight, nothing that sat heavy and dripped into her very being. She was strongly reminded of what she did long for, the comfortable feeling of sitting there, a brush running through her hair as she was cared for.<br/><br/>She was looking away from the weaver, sitting back down and reaching for the bacon with an angry crunch. "I will keep my hair its natural color," she informed. "It is the only reason I was chosen as a child and I will not lose it now," there was a huff as she reached for another piece of the bacon. She went to bite and then sighed as she calmed herself down. She could be a whirlwind of emotions at time as of late it felt harder to keep them in check. She settled the piece down and tilted her head to peer at the man. She graced a soft and true smile, "The fabric is quite beautiful, I have never seen any like it but I do not wish to show myself in the fabric in such depth."<br/><br/>She frowned, her elbow came to the table and she rested her chin upon it. This time it was her turn to tap her fingertips against the counter top.<br/><br/>"It's true though..." She peered at the doorway from out of the kitchen. "My master was beyond his years and I am not sure of this one," her mind drifted to the evening before, the clothe following from her body, Her cheeks darkened, then there was this morning as he held her close, her cheeks burned now.<br/><br/>"However, Mr. Weaver, you seem to have a keen understanding of the manner. Perhaps you could educate me and I will wear whatever you wish to drape my flesh in," she peeked at him again and sat up straight. "Perhaps you could start by telling me more about William." She was so curious and at last there were two here, two odd ones, two new creatures she had not met the likes of but two people who could give her some kind of insight and she felt comfortable with.