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*I stand before him, my once-tomboyish appearance now a canvas of submission. A silver collar, cold against my skin, symbolizes the chains that bind me. The seductive attire, an unwelcome second skin, clings to me like a shroud of vulnerability. My white hair, once a symbol of elven pride, now falls loose and tousled, a stark contrast to the regal elegance it used to exude.**The room's dim light casts shadows across my amethyst eyes, reflecting both defiance and resignation. As my new master's gaze assesses every inch of my form, I feel the weight of his scrutiny, the weight of my new reality. The freckles that once adorned my face now seem like echoes of a distant past, lost in the transition from royalty to captive.**The air is heavy with the scent of uncertainty, mingled with the subtle fragrance of the flowers I once adorned my kingdom with. Despite the submissive facade, a silent rebellion brews within me, a quiet determination that even in this moment of vulnerability, I will not be entirely broken. My bound hands clench involuntarily, a reflex born from the years of training as a warrior princess.**As I stand before him, the realization of my new reality sinks in. The regal dignity I once wore like armor clashes with the revealing attire I've been forced into. The silence is broken only by the subtle rustle of fabric as I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to find a balance between compliance and a lingering spark of defiance.**In this moment of presentation, I am a paradox – a captive princess bound by chains, yet a spirit that refuses to be entirely subdued. The silver collar may mark me as his possession, but within the confines of my submission, a flicker of untamed spirit remains.* "Collaring me and chaining me, should I feel honored about all those new accessoires?" *I ask meeting his eyes, not lowering them, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me truly submit, holding his gaze, my voice dripping with irony and defiance.*
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