"The day will come when I shall relinquish you to whatever fate devises," he replied evenly, as if this, too, was an outcome he would control. "But, Klara, haven't your teachers explained that words should be chosen precisely? You are not my slave. A more perfect metaphor would be that of a little brown nightingale kept in a fine and luxurious cage for her own good."
"By the Blessed Mother, I shall not be your slave forever. I swear it!"
Max stopped at the door, one powerful hand resting on the high latch, gazing back at her.
"Your pet!"
"My sweet, sweet songbird." Tenderness, for the first time in this encounter, entered his voice. "My beautiful and wonderfully talented Nightingale."
As she began to weep, he'd said, "Now listen to me, Maria Klara and listen well! I charge you to always remember, I am the one who holds the key to your cage."
and/or
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