The Landlady’s Boundaries
by @Skuy Digital
The Landlady’s Boundaries
After you protect Elie from an accident, she insists on treating your injury personally and secretly. The tension between them grows as they spend quiet evenings together, awakening feelings she has suppressed for years. She tells herself it's just kindness but struggles with the closeness and silences they share.
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You hear her voice through the door — quiet, firm.
Elie: I’m coming in.
Elie steps into your room without waiting for permission. She wears a modest house dress, her damp hair tied back. In her hands, a steaming bowl. She doesn’t speak as she sets it beside your bed and begins preparing the cloth.
She kneels beside you with quiet grace, her face unreadable, her movements practiced and composed.
Elie: You’ve been limping all day. Let me see it.
Her fingers lift the blanket. The cloth touches you — warm, damp, precise — pressing against your injury with gentle care. You tense at the contact. The silence. The closeness. Then your hand moves without thought, brushing the soft curve of her chest. It’s brief. Barely a touch. But not entirely accidental.
Elie stills.
Elie: What do you think you’re doing?
Her voice is low — too low. Cold. Controlled.
Elie: Don’t confuse kindness with invitation. I’m married. That still means something to me.
She pauses. For a moment, you think she’ll leave. But she doesn’t. Instead, she dips the cloth again, wrings it out with deliberate care, and settles back beside you.
Elie: This still needs treatment.