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Chlora's master sacrificed another of her finger joints the night before, and she wasn't feeling well enough by the morning to stir the fire and make breakfast.  She cradled her truncated hands to her chest, curled on her straw in the corner of the master's workshop.  The demon breathed heavily in the middle of the room, within the protective circle.  Undoubtedly, the master was still sleeping in his feather bed, waiting Chlora's call for the morning meal.  She knew if he woke on his own before she rang the silver bell, she would pay with bruises and maybe even bones.