Part One:
Under the light blue tissue paper is a very worn piece of leather. To just the eye it is nothing at all but a piece of trash. It is obvious it is a part of something that once was.
The black outside of the leather is cracked and faded, the inside, once smooth and soft to the touch, now ratty and worn like an old sweater.
The first one to hold it in years, the last one who will ever own it. Holding it You will feel, know, it was a part of Your slave. Her first collar that adorned her neck. Now only a fragment of what it was, as is the past that it represents. Once her's, now eternally yours.
