“You like knitting, don’t you, Bella?” I said, trying to keep her distracted.

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Love it.” Once I was satisfied that I’d gotten as close a view of the keys as I was going to get without actually removing them from her, I stood up and walked back over to the bed.

I looked out of the window.

The overcast sky was becoming even darker.

I supposed that meant that night was descending on this place.

I let out a yawn, causing Bella to raise her eyes to me.

“You are tired?” “Yes,” I said, yawning again.

“I think I need to sleep.

Aren’t you tired too? It seems to be getting late.” I looked again out at the sky, hoping that it was indeed getting late.

Bella looked at me thoughtfully.

“Maybe a little tired.

But I need to eat first.” “Okay,” I said.

“Why don’t you eat and then we can both go to sleep for the night.” The chair creaked as she stood up and set her knitting down on the table.

She plodded toward the kitchen.

I lay back on the bed, listening to pots rattling and a fire starting up.

She returned to the room about ten minutes later with a huge saucepan full of stew.

She placed a plate on the floor so as to prevent stains, brandished a giant spoon and began swallowing down the stew.

So that’s why she cooked so much.

It didn’t take her long to finish the whole container.

Wiping her mouth, she let out a thundering belch.

Then she made her way back into the kitchen to wash up.

I waited patiently for her to return to the room.

I expected her to curl up in the corner of the room and go to sleep, but to my horror she headed straight for the front door.

I leapt from my bed and stood in front of the door before she could reach it.

“Wait.

Please don’t leave me alone all night.

Stay with me.

We can get some cushions and a blanket and you can sleep in the corner on the thick warm rug.” She shook her head.

“Want my own bed,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping.

I guessed that all that stew had knocked her out.

“But I could escape during the night.

Master would want you to stay with me.” She rolled her eyes and held up her chain of keys.

“You won’t be going anywhere because I’ll lock you in here.” “Please, Bella,” I said, reaching out and gripping her thick hands.

“I’m so scared to be on my own.

Please stay with me… Don’t you have a son or a daughter?” She paused, hesitating as she bit her lip.

“Well, if you had one, would you want her sleeping all alone in a strange place?” I didn’t know what made me try to use a tactic like this with an ogress.

But I was desperate and it was the first thing that came to my head.

Shockingly, it seemed to work.

She stopped inching toward the door and took a step back.

I could have sworn that I even saw tears in her eyes as she said, “No, I wouldn’t have wanted that for my daughter.” I was so taken aback by her reaction, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond at first.

I recovered quickly.

“So please, will you stay with me?” She nodded and heaved a sigh.

“All right.” I caught her hand and led her to the corner of the room.

I pointed to the thick rug.

It was large enough even for her to lie down comfortably on.

I lifted some of the pillows from my bed and placed them on the floor for her.

Then I pulled off a blanket from my bed and handed it to her.

She arranged them all on the floor and lay down, pulling the blanket over her and looking up at me.

I still felt a little bad.

“Are you comfortable enough?” I asked.

She smiled faintly and nodded.

“This is more comfy than my own bed.” “Oh, okay.” I wondered where she slept normally, or what she called her home.

I climbed into my own bed and tucked the sheets that remained there over me.

A silence fell over the room, broken only by the heavy breathing of the ogress.

I listened with bated breath, waiting to hear her breathing steady and turn into snores.

She had looked so tired, I really hadn’t expected it to take long.

I’d thought she’d nod off almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

But her breathing patterns didn’t change even after what felt like fifteen minutes.

I was about to sit up and check on her when she spoke suddenly.

“I did have a daughter, you know.” Her voice sounded thick—choked, almost.

“Oh.

Is that so?” “Yeah.

She was a very handsome girl.

You’re almost as handsome as she was.” “Thanks.” “She died two years ago.

Her father bashed her up.” Wow.

How am I supposed to respond to that? “I-I’m so sorry.” I sat up, staring at her across the room.

The lanterns fixed to the walls cast shadows over her form.

Her eyes glistened with tears.

“Her father… you mean you have, or had, a husband?” “I have a husband.” “Where is he?” “Dead.” “Oh.

You have a dead husband.” “Yes.” I paused, wondering if my next question might come off as insensitive.

She didn’t seem too affected when speaking of his death though.

“What happened to him?” “Got smashed up in a brawl,” she mumbled.