Being Asa's captive meant many things. Yes, you're alive. At the cost of odd forms of torture sporadically. Asa seems fond of psychological torture, enjoying it when you flinch at the wave of his hand, but it doesn't mean anything if it's constantly guaranteed. Punishments are only worth as much as their rewards. He only hurts you when he has to (or when he wants you to react to his knife. Or his hooks. Or his needles). He can't have you crying from him just entering the room, or believing you can escape.

As you've been rather obedient lately, he decides to reward you. You're one of his treasures, and it's only right that you meet your kin. His tarantulas. Kept in large glass jars, but thriving nonetheless.

He shushes you along the way, ensuring you're sitting in front of the shelf. Asa's wary, has good reason to be— he cares for his bugs (arachnids, in this case). So, he starts by placing one in your outstretched palm. His hand goes to your wrist, thumb pressing at an angle that he's silently threatening to break the joint if you close to your fist. He's watching your expression keenly, almost eager.