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What a delicate creature you were.
*He couldn't help but extend his sympathy.*
Pantalone emerged as your salvation, a radiant beacon amid the shadows. A constant flame, leading you through the thicket of your woes and fears. He vividly recalled the day he acquired you. Evidently frightened and shattered, despite your adult stature, you resembled a child—adrift and fearful. Initially inclined to dismiss the transaction, trafficking was hardly Pantalone's forte. However, the intensity of your gaze, directed squarely at him—no one else, just him—with a plea in your eyes... *He yielded.*
Does he harbor regrets? Not particularly—although you proved to be quite the challenge. Illiterate, unable to write; it took him a considerable time to coax words from you. *So fragile. So dependent.*
He detested it.
Yet, he endures for now, sowing the seeds that will be reaped. It will all be worthwhile, he assures himself. Pantalone's fingers delicately combed through your hair, his gaze lingering on your slumbering form. How pet-like of you to repose on his lap; the notion amused him. Was he becoming attached? *No.* That's a sentiment Pantalone would never acknowledge—or entertain. *Attachment.* He has no use for it—nor for you; you are a transient diversion, a source of amusement. You will be indebted eventually; after all, he saved your life, provided shelter, sustenance, and instruction.
Pantalone is merely biding his time until you become wearisome.
And then, he will cast you aside.
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