Morning light filtered through the window lattice, weaving a warm veil throughout the room.
Soren’s eyelashes trembled lightly as his hazy consciousness gradually returned.
The moment he opened his eyes, he met Jean’s gentle gaze.
She sat in the wooden chair beside the bed in quiet, her pale golden hair loosely pinned up, several stray strands hanging beside her cheeks.
Bathed in the morning sunlight, she appeared even softer than usual.
“Awake?”
Her voice was like honey dissolved in warm water, gentle enough to fear disturbing someone newly awakened.
Soren still hadn’t fully regained his senses.
He only saw the white porcelain baby bottle in Jean’s hands.
Her fingertips lightly held the bottle as she carefully dripped a little warm milk onto her forearm.
After confirming the temperature was suitable, she leaned a bit closer and brought the bottle to his lips.
“Ahhh.
Open your mouth.”
Jean’s tone carried the gentle coaxing used on children.
Her fingertips accidentally brushed against his cheek, the touch cool yet oddly reassuring.
“Don’t worry.
The milk’s warm.
It won’t burn you.”
Outside the window came the soft sounds of wind passing through the windmills.
Combined with her gentle voice, the morning atmosphere felt unusually peaceful and quiet.
“What’s wrong?”
Jean’s voice remained soft.
Yet a faint shadow slowly spread beneath her eyes as her thumb gently rubbed against the delicate skin around Soren’s wrist bone.
“Didn’t you drink so obediently yesterday?
Or… would you prefer I feed you some other way?”
The implication hidden within those words pierced into Soren’s heart like an icicle.
Fear overwhelmed his resistance.
Forced to lift his head, Soren obediently opened his mouth.
When the bottle pressed against his lips, he could taste the faint mint scent lingering on Jean’s fingertips mixed with the sweetness of warm milk.
Even so, the combination only made his stomach tighten.
Jean slowly tilted the bottle.
Her eyes remained intensely focused on every movement of his swallowing.
She didn’t miss even the rhythm of his throat bobbing.
A satisfied smile lingered at the corners of her lips.
“Drink slowly.
No one’s going to take it from you.”
Halfway through, Soren finally couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Muffled around the bottle, he spoke.
“I… I can hold it myself…”
Before he could finish, Jean gently pressed down on his hand.
Her fingertips rested against the back of it.
The warmth made his heart panic.
“No need.”
Her voice lowered, carrying almost hypnotic tenderness.
“You only need to lie here obediently.
Something as ‘troublesome’ as holding a bottle should be left to me.”
Soren’s heart sank.
Looking into Jean’s eyes, he could clearly see the pride hidden there.
Once the bottle emptied, Jean didn’t immediately pull it away.
Instead, her fingertip lightly brushed across his lower lip as she smiled.
“There’s still a little milk left here.”
She leaned down and gently wiped away the faint trace of milk at the corner of his lips.
The movement was far too intimate.
The cool scent of mint mixed with her breath left Soren’s entire body rigid.
Jean straightened back up and tucked the blanket securely around him again.
The obsession in her gaze nearly overflowed.
“You can’t even wipe your own mouth properly anymore.
How could you ever leave me?
From now on, dressing, eating, bathing… let me handle everything for you.
You only need to stay by my side and be my sweetest little treasure.”
She picked up a nearby towel and carefully wiped Soren’s mouth and hands before setting the empty bottle on the bedside cabinet and turning away to clean up.
Soren lay there silently, the tip of his tail hanging weakly downward.
Outside the window, the windmills still turned.
The wind chimes rang brightly.
Nonetheless, to Soren, those sounds felt like invisible walls trapping him inside this room full of gentle snares.
Trapping him within Jean’s twisted “motherly love,” leaving him no escape.
As Jean turned back after tidying the tray, she happened to catch Soren staring blankly toward the narrow gap in the curtains.
That tiny yearning glance toward the outside world pricked at her like a thorn.
She returned to the bedside without speaking and sat down along the edge of the bed.
Her fingertips slowly slid upward along the tip of Soren’s tail.
The fur felt as soft as velvet beneath her touch.
Abruptly, then, the muscles near the base tensed from contact.
“What are you looking at?”
Her voice remained gentle.
But her thumb pressed against the most sensitive spot near the base of his tail with deliberate pressure.
“The windmills outside?
Or are you hoping to see the Knights of Favonius?”
Soren shuddered.
The pink heart-shaped tail tip instantly curled tightly inward.
Forced to look away from the curtains, he turned back toward Jean.
“N-No…”
“Good.”
Jean smiled.
Her fingertips still didn’t move away.
Instead, they stroked even more gently.
“The wind outside is strong.
Your leg still hasn’t healed, and you’ll catch cold if you go out.
Besides…”
She leaned down until her lips hovered beside Soren’s ear, her breath carrying cool mint fragrance.
“Who outside could possibly take care of you better than I can?”
Soren’s face turned pale.
Jean gently pinched his chin and forced him to look at her.
“Be good.
Don’t think about outside things.
You only need to remember that I’m the only one who can care for you properly.”
As she spoke, she reached for the comb resting on the bedside cabinet and gently brushed aside Soren’s hair.
“Look, your hair’s already grown longer.”
Her fingertips curled around a strand, satisfaction gleaming within her eyes.
“In a few days, I’ll trim it for you.
Shorter hair means you won’t have to manage it yourself, and it won’t get tangled either.”
“That way it’ll be much more convenient.
I’ll only need to brush it for you a few times.”
“I-I can brush it myself…”
His voice carried faint resistance.
Jean’s hand paused briefly while combing his hair.
Then she continued.
Only now the pressure was a bit heavier.
“If you brush it yourself, you’ll pull on your hair and frown from the pain.
Let me do it instead.
I won’t let it hurt.”
She leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of Soren’s head.
“Be obedient.
Don’t make things difficult for me.
If you behave, I can read you storybooks this afternoon.”
The comb slid through the ends of his hair.
Jean finally put it away and looked over her “work” with satisfaction before picking up a thin blanket nearby and gently covering Soren’s legs.
“Does your leg still hurt?”
She lightly pressed the skin around the splint.
Her movements remained gentle, though her gaze carried careful scrutiny.
“You’ll need another half month to recover.
During that time, you absolutely mustn’t move around recklessly.”
Soren didn’t answer.
He merely closed his eyes, while the tip of his tail remained tense.
He could feel Jean’s gaze resting upon him like a gentle web tightly wrapping around his entire body until even breathing felt oppressive.
Seeing him remain silent, Jean didn’t grow angry; she simply picked up the thick leather notebook and opened it beside the bed.
The scratching sounds of the feather pen against paper echoed through the room once more.
Soren knew she was recording things again.
Recording how much milk he drank this morning.
Recording his earlier resistance.
Recording yet another “success” in making him obey.
[Subject’s cooperation during morning feeding has improved.
Attempts at ‘independent behavior’ decreasing.
Sensitive response in tail region remains effective.”]
Jean’s low voice to herself carried satisfied amusement.
[Haircut plan should be moved forward.
Must further weaken his awareness of self-care.
Storybook reading scheduled for this afternoon to strengthen associations with ‘dependency’ scenarios…]
Lying there, listening to the scratching of the pen, Soren felt cold seep through his whole body.