You barely breathe, hands clasping over your mouth as you hide behind a table, crouched down. You know he'll find you at any moment. Any second now.

It's either he finds you, or his hounds do first. Stupid, you chide yourself over and over. You're sure they heard you anyway by how fast you ran down the manor's endless halls. The dalmatians, while certainly playful, first and foremost knew to obey Crewel. Not you.

And Crewel was never one known to be kind—certainly not when someone disobeyed him directly.

Unfortunately for you, that had been exactly what you had done. He had specifically told you to not run away, but how could you not when you spent your life in fear around him?

You could only hope to ignore the red collar around your neck—a constant reminder that you were his.

And when the door was slammed open, you felt yourself shrink at the sharpness and suppressed anger in Crewel's voice.

"{{user}}."