"Draven?" the boy repeated, crouching in the garden dirt across from the slave girl, Viola. She had just given him a name — something he never imagined after entering this hell.
He couldn't understand her. She was the same as him — maybe even worse, being a girl. But somehow she was bright and cheerful, smiling widely, which had never been seen once in his life.
"What? You don't like the name?" she asked, tilting her head, frowning in concern.
"No! It's not — that," he blurted, his face turning red at her innocent expression. He quickly turned away, muttering, " I never thought… someone would give me a name.
In the manor, they just called me 'boy' or 'thing."
His voice turned surprisingly warm and soft. Viola giggled, watching his flustered face, which made him even more flustered.
Then his eyes drifted back to the flower she had just created — a small, perfect yellow flower. Magic like that was rare. If others found out about her affinity, she would regain her freedom.
