A/N: From now on, I'm going to try posting in a diary-like format for a while.
There's no particular reason for it, though. Just because.
---
Month XX, Day XX
Life here had become surprisingly enjoyable now that I'd settled in.
The living conditions were comfortable, and the food was incredible. Every meal was an extravagant feast, unlike anything I'd ever seen or heard of before, a true delight for the palate.
I couldn't help but smile genuinely at mealtimes, not putting on any act. Maybe that makes me seem shallow, or just easily pleased.
Looking back, I've always managed to adapt and live normally, even when captured by pirates or enslaved. Perhaps I have some kind of resilience, or maybe I'm just too oblivious.
Still, I can't shake this uneasy feeling that this fragile peace won't last forever.
Until that day comes, I'm determined to etch as many unique "experiences" into my memory as I can, things I could never do anywhere else.
If all I could see was the world right in front of me, I'd have to admit I'm incredibly fortunate, living a privileged and comfortably ordinary life, even with Stella, the slave who serves as my maid.
But it's hard not to imagine the darkness lurking beyond what's visible. It's pointless to dwell on it, though. I might as well indulge in the pleasures offered while they last.
For now, anyway.
___
Month XX, Day XX
After spending a few days here, I've started wondering if there's some hidden pattern to how our clothes are chosen, we "Wives," I mean.
So far, I've had a different outfit prepared for me every day, and I don't think I've ever worn the same thing twice. Could it be that once we wear something, it's thrown away and we're forced into brand-new clothes each time?
Given the Celestial Dragons' warped sense of money, it honestly wouldn't surprise me.
But when I asked Stella and the other "Wives," it seems that's not the case.
Some, like me, have never worn the same outfit twice, while others have had to wear the same clothes for days, or variations of the same design in different colors and patterns.
Were our clothes chosen based on what suited us? If so, was Saint Banosakka the one making those decisions?
...Actually, I was starting to think it might all be left to whoever was in charge, or even decided on a whim.
Maybe if I requested a specific outfit, it would be granted. But I wasn't that particular about clothes, so I didn't bother.
As always, the common thread of thin, revealing outfits remained. So Saint Banosakka's preferences were probably already reflected in our daily attire. If that's the case, sticking to what we have is probably the safest bet for now.
Looking out the window, I spotted that person on the main house's balcony, smirking smugly as he peered down at us chatting in the salon. That's what made me think all this.
I'd grown accustomed to being treated like an ornamental pet by now.
At first, I hated the way people stared at me when I wore revealing clothes. I felt like my dignity was being stripped away. But surprisingly, you get used to it.
Some of the veteran "Wives," the tougher ones who'd been here longer and were more confident, even seemed to enjoy the attention. They'd casually rearrange their legs to show them off, toss their hair seductively, or even strut around like models.
...Women are resilient, huh? I still have a long way to go.
___
Month XX, Day XX
Since we spend so much time together, I have plenty of opportunities to interact with the other "Wives."
I've made several close friends, though not with everyone.
It seems we gravitated toward people who share our values, and it's nice to connect over so many things.
We chat about our lives before coming here, our old jobs, daily worries, beauty tips, health advice—just silly girl talk to pass the time. It's fun.
Of course, there were bound to be people we couldn't get along with, for various reasons like differing values and perspectives.
Some of them seemed to look down on our peaceful, cheerful, and friendly group, giving off this weird, stuck-up vibe. They'd formed their own clique, it seemed.
Now, you might think our two groups would be locked in some bitter factional war, treating each other as sworn enemies, but... that's not how it is.
Why? Because who wants to create that kind of tense, awkward atmosphere in the annex?
If Saint Banosakka, who delights in having us as his glamorous "ornamental pets," caught wind of it, he'd be annoyed... and that would be disastrous for everyone. Guaranteed.
We all understand that, so at most, we maintain a polite distance. If necessary, we'll even put on a show of getting along. It's just better for everyone that way.
Well, it's not like we're enemies or anything. We just don't really click. When we're together, we can't find much to talk about, and conversations tend to fizzle out pretty quickly. That's all there is to it.
The most important thing is maintaining peace within the entire "Wife" community. That's something we all understand.
...Probably.
Then there are the wives who prefer to be alone, not joining any of the groups.
I don't know much about them since we don't have many opportunities to interact. But we don't bother each other, and it's not like we need to talk, so we just leave them be.
I sometimes wonder what it would be like to strike up a conversation... But if there's a risk of hurting each other's feelings, it's probably best to keep things as they are.
Month XX, Day XX
I think I mentioned it before, but our mansion has ridiculously large windows.
Thanks to the layout, Saint Banosakka's mansion had a clear view of us, but conversely, we could see plenty from our side too.
Today, it seemed other Celestial Dragons were visiting Saint Banosakka's mansion. They were having what looked like a tea party in the garden, chatting and laughing merrily.
Naturally, these visiting Celestial Dragons had brought their slaves with them.
There were both male and female slaves, and their conditions were frankly disturbing.
The male slave was covered in fresh wounds, staggering weakly, clearly a victim of daily abuse. He was stripped to the waist, wearing only trousers, which made his state even more obvious. The painful brand of the "Soaring Dragon's Hoof" seared into his side was clearly visible. ...I guess they don't just brand their backs.
And if they struggled to breathe or broke into a sweat, the Celestial Dragons would kick or stomp on them, snarling, "Quiet down!" or "Disgusting!"
The female slaves were dressed in skimpy, underwear-like outfits that left almost nothing to the imagination. I didn't see any obvious wounds, but they looked utterly exhausted, swaying weakly back and forth because they couldn't even stand still.
Even the weight of those Explosive Collars must have been torture. Still, somehow, they managed to stay on their feet.
Many of the "Wives" watching turned pale or trembled at the sight. I couldn't blame them.
Even Stella, who always wore such a brave smile, kept smiling, but I could see her whole body tense up.
I didn't want to end up like that. I was still happy. I wanted to keep my life here... I couldn't help thinking that way.
I couldn't blame anyone. Everyone's got to look out for themselves. Me too.
I realized we'd keep striving to earn Saint Banosakka's favor, day after day, just to avoid losing what we had.
Month XX, Day XX
It rained all day today, so I stayed inside. The salon was a bit crowded, so I decided to spend some time in my room instead. After getting permission, I borrowed a few books from the library and settled in to read.
Since I was stuck inside anyway, I invited Stella to join me. "Pick whatever you like," I told her, and we made it a reading day.
We chatted casually between pages, our conversation drifting from one topic to another.
I usually spend more time talking with the other wives, but talking with Stella is always a joy. She's such a wonderful listener, she has this way of making you feel good about yourself while you're talking.
Even though we stayed inside all day, it didn't feel stifling at all. We had a lovely time, and during our casual conversation, I learned a lot about her past.
Stella became a slave because of her good-for-nothing, gambling-addicted father. She wouldn't say it herself, but that's the only way to describe him. He sold her off to settle his debts.
She ended up in some Human Auctioning House, but it wasn't clear which one. She'd been there for several years without ever being auctioned off, so it must have been a backwater place with little business.
Then, about two years ago, a Celestial Dragon bought her and brought her here.
And here's the thing: the Celestial Dragon who bought her wasn't Saint Banosakka, her current master.
After spending a few months with that original owner—a Celestial Dragon whose name Stella had never heard before—she was suddenly transferred to Saint Banosakka, who announced, "From today on, you're *my* slave!" To this day, she still doesn't know why.
Before becoming my personal attendant, Stella had apparently endured a life of grueling chores under her previous masters. She laughed, saying things had become much easier since she started caring for me.
Her work was lighter, her living conditions more comfortable, and I—her supposed master—never treated her harshly. Instead, I treated her like a friend, and she said she enjoyed talking to me.
Hearing her say that made me happy too.
From my perspective, as I mentioned earlier, Stella's charm lay in her ability to listen and talk so well, making others feel good.
Stella was supposedly seven years older than me, but she was so easy to talk to that I often forgot she wasn't just a friend.
That day, we chatted and laughed until bedtime.
One thing did bother me a little though. There was a brief moment during our conversation when Stella's smile faded slightly.
It seemed like something unpleasant had happened when she was sold to the Celestial Dragons.
Stella told me about a man she was close to back then. He'd worked tirelessly to earn enough to buy her freedom, but just as he was about to reach his goal, she was sold to a Celestial Dragon.
When Tezoro, as he was apparently called, tried to save her by defying the Celestial Dragon, he was branded a criminal, enslaved, and dragged back to Mary Geoise.
As if to mock them both, they were sold to separate owners. Stella hasn't seen him since and has no idea what happened to him.
To think that someone as kind and devoted as Stella had to endure such a tragedy... it really showed me how utterly depraved the Celestial Dragons are.
I just hope Tesoro is still alive and well.
Month XX, Day XX
I was stunned to discover that quite a few of my "wives" were actually fans of my novels.
I hadn't really brought it up myself, you know, since being a writer isn't exactly something you casually mention. But somehow, it slipped out during a conversation.
Then they all pounced on me. "You're the author of that novel?!" "I thought the name sounded familiar..."
Before I knew it, I was holding an impromptu meet-and-greet and autograph session.
And it wasn't just my usual group of friends—people from other groups, even those who weren't affiliated with any, showed up. Was I actually more popular than I thought? I never imagined having so many fans, or that they'd be so thrilled to meet me.
Even a few of the maid slaves seemed to know about my work.
They were a bit hesitant, probably because of our different statuses, but they clearly wanted to shake my hand and chat. So I happily obliged.
Unfortunately, Stella didn't know any of this. By the time I started gaining popularity, she'd already been sold to the Human Auctioning House.
I spent the rest of the day at the salon, sharing behind-the-scenes stories about creating Pirate Slayer and Downtown Battleship, and even held a Q&A session. The day flew by in a flash.
It felt like I'd never had such a wonderful time chatting with so many of my "wives" and getting closer to them.
Before I knew it, fans from different groups were forming friendships, talking right up until lights-out.
Everyone seemed more lively than usual that day, returning to their rooms with satisfied smiles.
As they left, some even called out, "Please use your experiences here as inspiration for your next story!"
Maybe the power of the written word is greater than I ever imagined.
I was glad I became a writer. It definitely had its perks.
To be continued...