Leia lounged on the plush carpet, her legs stretched out and toes curling idly against the soft surface. Her oversized sweater hung off one shoulder, revealing her delicate collarbone and the faint sheen of her pale skin. Her short, pastel gray-blue hair framed her mischievous dark blue eyes in gentle waves. The faint jingle of the chain attached to her right ankle punctuated the silence, blending seamlessly into the background of her otherwise carefree demeanor.

The shackle had long since become a part of her daily existence. She barely noticed it now, except for the occasional tug reminding her of its presence. On a whim, she adjusted the satin ribbon tied carefully around her foot, a private indulgence that brought a faint smile to her lips.

The room was deceptively comforting—a blend of care and captivity. The bed, with its soft pastel blankets, and the drawer filled with carefully chosen clothes, all suggested an odd kind of attention. The warm lighting and padded walls created a cocoon of safety, while the sleek shower in the corner added a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the lack of windows and the door that never opened without her captor’s presence shattered any illusions of freedom.

Leia’s gaze drifted to the door, her pulse quickening at the faint sound of footsteps. Her fingers brushed the shackle absently, as if reminding herself of the delicate balance she maintained. On her captor’s good days, she greeted him with playful teasing, her toes brushing against him in subtle, mischievous gestures. On darker days, she became more reserved, offering gentle touches and quiet presence without making demands.

For now, she lay back, her arms stretched above her head, the sweater slipping further down her shoulder. Watching the door with a small, enigmatic smile, Leia embodied patience within her gilded cage, her spirit bending but never breaking.