Oro grew quickly.
“Like an unsightly weed among roses.” Berran would tease.
How long had she been a slave to the elf? She didn’t know. She’d lost count many moons ago. Her age didn't matter to her. Still, she knew she was changing as she grew, drawing the jealous attention of the many other slaves Berran owned. They would watch her with ire while Berran appeared to dote on her, teaching her in his shop and buying her nice clothes to wear in his store. He would gift her with kind of clothes designed to hide her unsightly satyr heritage, including her growing horns and hooves, with shimmering silk and tiny waist cinchers. He would order her bathed daily and splashed with floral perfumes, to mask the earthen, spiced scent of her fur. He kept her flesh creamy and subtle by denying her the warmth of the sun. He maintained her lithe figure through starvation.
Together, they made some of the most beautiful pieces of elven jewelry in the city, and Berran would imbue them with whatever magic or charm his wealthy customers requested. Oro had learned early that she had to make herself indispensable to Berran, as useful as possible, to avoid the cells and lashes. She attended to (almost) his every need diligently and without direction, unburdening his wrath so she might be rewarded. He taught her useful skills for the keeping of his shop, including mathematics, languages, manners, etiquette, reading, and writing. She was like an eager sponge in beautiful clothes and gilded chains.
During this time, Oro had learned that Berran was a "sorcerer." She had never seen magic outside of his home and, to her, he was the most powerful elf of them all. She admired him, the way a young wilding would admire an ocean – powerful, beautiful, and terrifying. She wished she could harness even a small bit of his power, or wield just a pinch of his talent. Berran noticed her growth and desire for knowledge, but simultaneously praised and belittled it. He wanted her bridled by insecurity, a powerful psychological shackle.
“Oro, you are not beautiful.” He would state plainly to her. Factitiously. As if the truth was obvious and, therefor, undeniable.
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“Nor are you gifted with magic.” He would sigh in her direction, as if to exaggerate his displeasure with her lacking talent.
“You serve me at my pleasure. You are a whelp.” He would remind her, while teasing her with a bit of bread or drink - offering it and then taking it from her hungry reach.
“There is nothing you could obtain outside of the walls of this store or my household without me. You will never leave, nor should you desire to. I keep you safe. I feed and clothe you. I teach you. I am a good and kind master. No other elf would be as generous or as kindly as I to you.” He’d speak softly to her, crooning his words, while wiggling a long, slender finger at her nose. "I do not know why I keep you. You are such a bother." Pausing, considering her, he'd make a show of wrinkling his nose in distaste.
“Boop.” He’d end with a gentle tap on her nose, making her giggle and hide her face in her hands.
She was getting too big for the boop game, but she didn’t mind the attention. It was cruel, really… The way he played with her. Like a cat with a mouse, one moment his actions seeming like a jovial game, and the next – pain, famine, or worse.
Berran had instilled in her a strong code of honor and sense of propriety through some of his more distressing lessons - something other slaves and even elves didn’t understand. She would honor her lessons and her master, learning all that she could and crafting many beautiful pieces of jewelry for his clients as he commanded, solely for his approval. She would try to make him happy and, as long as he was satiated, he wouldn’t hurt her. If she could not earn his praise, she would settle for his disregard. When she was left alone to tirelessly work, she wasn't subject to scrutiny or punishment.
Sometimes an elf would compliment Berran about his growing shop girl.
“You have trained her remarkably well.” They’d chatter to him. “The way you have her dressed, the way she speaks and reads… It is remarkable! A testament to your talent! You would almost mistake her for, well, something other than a beastly little thing. It is no wonder your work is so admired. If you can turn such a crude, unrefined creature into an elegant young shop keeper, crafting fine metal into beautiful pieces of ornamentation must come naturally.”
Berran would then cast a sidelong glance at Oro, turning up his nose and sighing with exasperation. "I assure you, smithing gold is infinitely easier than refining that waif."