Solistrae's fear for a slight moment becomes sorrow and anger.  How she was disdained, bound, chained, and insulted.  And then a more surprising turn of events, the mistress herself took the cloth to wash her tender sex.  A glint of metal drew her eyes and a quick, desperate perhaps, plan raced through her mind.  "Only a slave..."   She wanted to say more, the hint of her anger in her tone the only indication that her countenance had altered in the slightest.  How arrogant she was, a mere inch from her hands... a mere breath from her thighs.<br/><br/>Solistrae knew her strengths, her weaknesses, and while washing that area would be distracting it wouldn't be enough to disarm the reckless plan.  All she had to do was take the mistress, end her or hold her long enough to bolt from the premises.  The whip was a problem.  It was better to act soon, before the whip can be employed to defend against her, punish her.  Her body tenses as she readies to strike, Ambrosine was bound to notice as she tended reverently to the whip, would Catherine?<br/><br/>Unwilling to wait a heartbeat longer, Solistrae lunges for the blade, the only hope for her freedom.  She could taste freedom as her hands reach for the Mistress' slightly revealed knife.  She could feel the squirming of the clawed woman already as she held her restrained with her arms, her legs, the knife to her neck.  She could see her victory!  Just a bit more...