The Distribution of Weight

The debt owed me by the former Scribe, has been paid. The payment was rendered from the recent auction of her estate, one that led to her own enslavement. I wanted to attend, in fact it was something that I anticipated with a great deal of smug satisfaction. It was however a business commitment that detained me, thankfully Siminus agreed to attend in order to oversee the payment of the debt. In exchange for his assistance I offered to lend him the use of crumb for an unspecified period of time, his pride prevented him from asking her, yet the new addition of the walking stick proved to me that he required it. Truthfully I was glad do this for the ailing Scribe. It is my intention that his remaining days are pleasant and I am confident that crumb will take adequate care of him.
While I remain confident in crumbs abilities, the same unfortunately can not be said for the red headed slave. It might have been a mistake allowing her to attend the auction, the decision was made with the hope she would come to fully understand the finality of her past. I assumed it would be an emotional event for her, change often is, yet it was troubling when Siminus reported the of amount of tears shed, along with the public throwing of herself onto the ground. The news called for swift action, the time for levity has passed. It has become apparent she needs a firm hand in order to clearly remind her that it is no longer about her, and her needs. I would be lying if I didn't consider beating her, I believe it would have felt good to unleash the shame she brought down upon my good name. As tempted as I was, I would not however let my decision be dictated by emotions, after careful deliberation I opted for a more public lesson, something that would permanently remove the weight of her past, the decision made with a demanding hand, without encumbering her ability to perform her work. The sheers were handed over to her as she knelt beside me, ribbons of red spilling across the cobbled streets as I instructed her to cut her coveted strands. Several people stopped to stare, she was not pleased, cheeks damp with tears which confirmed by method of punishment. I am confident the lesson shall serve as a poignant reminder of my disappointment.
My ways of dealing with slaves, I believe are significantly different than others. I suppose that stands to reason considering my expectations don't revolve around their sexual abilities.
The following morning, once her chores were completed, she was escorted to the Street of Brands, her old collar removed and replaced with my own the inscription the same as crumbs,
"Property of the Twisted Tarn Bakery. Do not feed, do not coddle."
The ratty dark tunic disposed off replaced with a pale yellow version. I admit the seamstress did a fine job stitching the back with brown thread, the letters bold enough to be read from a good distance, it serves to not a testament of her statues, but more importantly the advertisement is a cheap way to illicit new customers.

On a more interesting note, it should be said that when freckles returned from the Auction she was in the possession of a small crafted wooden box. I didn't pay much attention to it at the time, instead focusing the brunt of my attention on her behavior instead of the contents, yet when I returned to my bakery and opened it, I was surprised to find it contained jewels, beautiful hand cut jewels of various size and color.
Naturally I questioned freckles upon contents, her reply only caused more unspoken questions when the generous donor was exposed as, the Red Caste woman, Scarlet Sin. I did not need the recent introduction to make me aware of the ties her family maintains in the City. I find the lot of them, despicable and without any type of social conscience, beyond their own, they represent everything I despise concerning the wealthy. They are like open sores feeding on the skills of the working class, riding along their backs within the open streets with a sense of entitlement that makes me ill. It is even rumored that she is connected if not responsible for the death of Jacobin, a local Metal Smith.

So that leaves me with several unanswered questions, the first being, why would a woman such as her chose to bestow such a valuable gift upon my low slave? There must be an agenda, one that I am determined to expose, for the moment I have transported the content to a more secure location until I can am able to have their value assessed.

The balancing act ironic, the removal of one weight, only served to tip the scales in another direction.