5
1251 Words
A Y L A
As I lowered myself into the tub, the warmth enveloped my skin, soothing the raw sting on my cheeks but doing nothing for the knot of dread in my gut. My body sank into the depths, the water rising to cover my breasts, hiding my nakedness from their eyes, though I felt their gazes like brands.
That's when I noticed her, the other maid, the one who had prepared the bath. A jagged scar marred her cheek, puckered and white, as if a blade had sliced across her face in a fit of rage. It pulled her skin taut, twisting her expression into something haunted.
She caught me staring, her eyes widening for a split second before she turned her head sharply to the side, hiding the mark behind a curtain of dark hair.
Heat flooded my face, shame mixing with my own humiliation. I hadn't meant to pry, but the wound looked fresh in memory, a brutal reminder of the cruelty lurking here.
The maids moved with practiced ease, each grabbing a low wooden stool from against the wall. The scarred one positioned hers at the head of the tub, close enough that I could see the faint tremor in her fingers as she sat.
The other settled at my feet, her back rigid, eyes fixed on the water's surface. The steam curled between us, thick and humid, making the air feel heavier, more intimate than it should.
The scarred maid leaned forward slightly, her voice a soft plea that barely rose above the gentle slosh of water. “Please cooperate with us,” she said, her tone laced with quiet desperation. “The mistress will not be pleased if you are not washed properly.”
I swallowed hard, the warmth of the bath seeping into my bones, and managed a small nod, my wet hair clinging to my shoulders. Anything to avoid drawing the mistress's wrath again.
She offered a fleeting, sad smile, her scar shifting with the movement. “My name is Estel,” she continued, her words hurried, as if she knew time was short. “She is Vorna.”
Vorna's head snapped up from her spot at my feet, her eyes flashing with warning. “Enough, Estel,” she hissed, her voice low and sharp, like a whip cracking in the steam. “We are not to speak to them.”
Estel's lips pressed into a thin line, and she fell silent, dipping a soft cloth into the water beside my shoulder. Vorna reached for a bar of soap, lathering it between her palms with quick, efficient strokes, the scent of rose filling the air.
They got to work without a word. Their hands moved over my skin like it was already decided I had no choice. Estel’s cloth rubbed my neck first, soft but firm, washing away the dirt from the road and my tears. Vorna’s soapy fingers wrapped around my ankle under the water, lifting my foot just enough to clean the sole.
They worked slowly, carefully, like they had done this a hundred times before. Every part of me was washed, no spot left untouched. It wasn’t gentle…it wasn’t meant to be. It was methodical, like I was an object to be cleaned, not a person.
I lay as still as I could, my muscles tight, my heart pounding. Any wrong move could get me in trouble, maybe even them. And yet, the slow, exact way they moved made me feel smaller than ever, like I didn’t belong in my own skin.
By the time they finished, my skin felt raw from the scrubbing, warm from the water, and strange like it didn’t belong to me anymore. They didn’t give me a moment to breathe before they lifted me out of the tub, wrapping a thin cloth around my body and leading me across the room.
The chamber was quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. A long mirror stood at the centre, tall enough to show every inch of me whether I wanted to see it or not.
Vorna reached for a gown laid neatly on the bed. When she held it up, my stomach dropped.
It was sheer. Completely sheer. A soft, pale fabric that would hide nothing, nothing from anyone who looked.
“I…I can’t wear that,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
Vorna’s eyes lifted to mine, cold, warning and she said nothing. She didn’t need to. The message was clear.
Estel helped guide my arms through the sleeves, the fabric sliding over my skin like mist. The moment it settled against my body, heat rushed to my cheeks. I crossed my arms over my chest instinctively, but even that didn’t fully hide me.
They ignored my shame. They always did.
“Sit,” Vorna ordered, pointing to the small cushioned stool in front of the mirror.
My legs trembled as I lowered myself onto it. Estel moved behind me, her fingers gentle as she began to comb through my wet hair, separating the strands and smoothing them with slow, careful strokes. She worked quietly, almost tenderly, gathering my hair and twisting it into soft waves.
Vorna knelt beside me, uncorking a small bottle. The sweet scent of vanilla drifted upward immediately, warm and soft, too soft for this cold place.
She poured oil into her palms and began rubbing it gently over my arms, my shoulders, my legs. Her touch was firm, not comforting, moving with the same steady rhythm she had used when washing me. Every glide of her hands made me feel even more exposed.
I lifted my eyes to the mirror.
And froze.
The girl staring back at me didn’t look like Ayla.
Her skin glowed from the oil. Her hair fell in gentle waves down her back. The sheer gown clung to her body, revealing every curve, every outline. Her lips were swollen from crying. Her eyes were wide, glassy, frightened.
She looked like someone being prepared for something she didn’t understand.
Someone being offered.
Someone who had no say.
My throat tightened painfully.
Estel's fingers suddenly paused in my hair, her breath catching. Vorna's hands stilled on my calf, the oil slick between her palms. The air in the room shifted, heavy and thick, like a storm rolling in.
The door creaked open behind us, slow and deliberate. My skin prickled before I even turned. Footsteps echoed, heavy, sure, like they owned every inch of this place.
Alpha Raiden stepped in.
The maids froze. Estel's comb slipped from her fingers, clattering softly on the vanity. Vorna's face went pale, her eyes dropping to the floor. They both turned to him, bowing their heads low, spines straight but trembling.
I shot up from the stool so fast my knees wobbled. Water dripped from my hair onto the floor, cold spots on my bare feet. I bowed my head too, staring at the tiles, my pulse thundering in my ears. Don't look up. Don't make a sound. That's what survival felt like here, small, silent, invisible.
“Leave,” Raiden said. His voice was deep, rough, cutting through the steam like a blade. No anger, no warmth. Just command.
The maids didn't wait. Vorna scrambled to her feet first, grabbing Estel's arm. They bolted for the door, skirts swishing, footsteps fading down the hall in a rush. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room empty except for us.
- Writer
