Lys: Determination

The fountain gleamed in what little light was left. She mourned the fact that there was so little with which to finish. Every bit cleaned only showed up the dinginess of something else. The flagstones really should be washed... But that required a brush, and light. A broom, on the other hand- that could be done in moonlight if necessary. She could scrub the stones sometime tomorrow.

Meanwhile, she wrung out her girdle- now stained and wrinkled and sacrificed to the fountain- and laid it on a sturdy bush to dry, hoping it would be alright to do so.

She did wish she'd been given some guidelines as to what was acceptable and what was not. Clear rules made life so much easier. When she knew what was expected of her, she could do it. But this uncertainty left her unbalanced- trying to please without knowing how.

She found a broom by the compost pile- apparently all garden supplies were stationed there- and began sweeping by feel. She could tell by the way the broom acted as to whether she was pushing into the garden past the flagstones, and her bare feet told her if she had cleaned well or not. She had not been dismissed to bed, and even if she was, she had no idea where to go. Best continue to be productive until told otherwise.

And so she did.