Emperor Daishoga listened to what she had to say keenly. He wasn't surprised that she wasn't familiar with being a personal servant. She didn't have the look of one. Her appearance was far too refined for a lowly status like that. In fact, her appearance was far more refined than that of a typical peasant as well. He drummed his fingers across the desk lightly as he thought.<br/><br/>"You're afraid of me," Daishoga mused. "Of course you were before my little display as well. Such a thing is quite common. Sometimes it is necessary to deal with an infection before it spreads. Calbrand was a man who was new to these lands. He was given several opportunities to learn the ways of the land, but he fell short of expectations. Such failure can simply not be allowed to go on. If I show a weak heart to my enemies, do you think they would show me the same courtesy? Of course not. Allow me to show you something."<br/><br/>The emperor got to his feet and walked around his desk again and stopped just in front of her. He reached down and undid the knot in his robes and pulled them off of himself. The only thing preventing him from being stark naked was a pair of undergarments covering his bottom half. But it was his chest that commanded attention. He was lithe with faint signs of a muscular form. But that wasn't the interesting part. The interesting part were the wicked scars running down his chest. There apparently even seemed to be signs of being burned several times in the past.<br/><br/>"I learned at an early age that life isn't easy. It's not gentle. It takes away the things you care about most. Life is callous." Daishoga placed his hand gently on her chin pushed so that he could gaze into her eyes. "Even you know that life is not gentle. Your entire village was razed because a single command uttered by my lips. Do you think I felt good issuing such an order? Do you think I enjoyed ending a village that had history older than this Empire's existence? Perhaps. Perhaps deep inside you feel I am a wicked emperor that enjoys torturing the common people. But I won't disagree. I am wicked. I have done awful things in my life. Things that I wouldn't change even if I could. Because life is a far greater monster than I could ever hope to be. The moment you show weakness is the moment life steps in and reveals just how frail true happiness can be."<br/><br/>Daishoga paused her for a moment with his hand still resting against her chin. His eyes hadn't moved once from hers. Nor had he blinked.<br/><br/>"I look at you and I can see something more than a peasant. I can see something more than....a personal servant. I can see a refined grace in your features. Many would consider you beautiful and yet because of your station would delude themselves into believing otherwise. Regardless, you will be my personal servant. And there are certain things I expect of a personal servant. You will not be expected to do simple cleaning tasks. You will not be expected to bring me food or perform simple errands. No, I require something far more personal. I require you. You will be a personal confidant. You will be the one I can speak freely with. You will be the one at my side at all times. You will be the one that I may enjoy physically. What do you think of such a position? I expect if I can speak freely with you, you ought to be able to do the same. Is that something that you find acceptable?"<br/><br/>Daishoga wondered how she would respond. She had clearly never been trained to be a personal servant, but she seemed to have heard tales of him. He wouldn't have been surprised. Even in the heartland of the Zusam Empire, wicked tales were told of the wicked Emperor. He had heard them all. Some of them were outright amusing while others gave him pause. But he wanted to hear how she would respond to the familiar way he spoke to her. The lack of formality. The way he almost seemed to be asking for her opinions rather than blind obedience. He wondered if what he said would be lost on her. Would she consider him a heartless monster or see past that illusion that the tales had painted? Or perhaps was he simply deluding himself into believing he was something more than what the stories told?