Gentle, slow, sometimes our lips barely touching, but always coming back for another kiss, equally gentle, equally tender. I love those kisses, but th...t wasn’t where the uncertainty ended either. It snowed last night. You kept looking out the window and saying it was romantic, in a way that could only happen in Canada – I’m not sure any other nation would look outside at snow and call it romantic. Especially not when there was a half hour drive ahead in the snow. In the cold and in the dark and. Weeks passed. Belle, like her fellow slaves, was in a monotonous, mindless routine of servitude. It was better than the general Harem, where punishments seemed far more frequent. And, of course, it was far better than the Stables. All the same it was servitude ... of the basest kind. Not so much as an atom of will of one’s own. A kind of mental numbness began to creep over Belle. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had never had any other life but this one. Sometimes it seemed to her that she. More

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