doesn’t want me coming in looking like a prisoner. That should worry me, but instead, I find it hard to care about anything except the warm tub.
I go to the edge, and the women help me to undress from the ragged shirt. A woman collects my clothes, wrinkling her nose, and walks away. The others wait around me, and I step down into the tub, groaning. The water’s hot, almost uncomfortably hot, and I sink down into it, then under the surface.
My gods. This is amazing. For years I’d imagined nothing could be better than a big chunk of chocolate, wrapped in a cookie, wrapped in a donut, but I take it back. A hot bath is the best thing in the world.
I’m running out of air, so I force myself to surface. And when I do, a laugh explodes from my lips. I look back at Andros, and he has that ghost of a smile. I lift the water in the palms of my hands and let it fall down, then splash around a little. I don’t think I’ve been this happy in longer than I can remember.
The women fill pots with the water and drop them over my head. I close my eyes and my mouth and let my head fall back. A couple of them climb into the water with me. They scrub my hair and my body with soaps that smell of roses, and I watch as the dirty water running off my body is replaced by clean water. They scrub me for what feels like hours, until the water begins to cool, and then they climb out of the massive tub and hold out a towel for me.
I climb out, locking gazes with Andros, and his gaze roams over my body, then lands on my face. In his eyes, I see a thousand words of a longing. Words he can’t speak. I smile back at him, wanting him to know that I know.
When I turn my back on him, he gasps. And I realize that out of the water he can see the lashes I gave myself. They’re mostly healed, just more scars to add to the others, but they still look recent enough that he’ll know.
I glance back at him and try to silently reassure him, but I can see a raw, horrible suffering in his eyes. It’s terrible to see him hurting, but I also know that we don’t get many decent moments, so we should enjoy this one while we can.
The women dry me with the softest towels, then put me in a robe. They dry my hair by a fire, brushing my deep blue strands until they gleam, and then they braid them intricately, placing strands strategically on my head, before letting the rest fall down my shoulders. They put rose perfume on my neck and my wrists, then put on a dark blue gown that is just a couple shades darker than my skin and soft as hell.
When they bring me to a mirror, I stare in shock. They stand back and I shift, the slit in the long dress revealing my leg. I continue moving in front of the mirror, staring at myself, shocked that the woman in the mirror is me. Yes, I’m thin. Like, sickly thin to the point where I can see the bones in my neck and chest, but I also look like the first witch...the woman of legend that I’m known as. It makes me feel strangely powerful after so long as a prisoner.
“You look beautiful.”
I shift in the mirror and stare over my shoulder. Andros is standing at attention, his face carefully blank. If I hadn’t heard the words, I’d have thought I imagined them.
“Hades will want you there now,” one of the women says, but her gaze softens and she gestures to one of the women.
The other maid lifts a bowl of fresh fruit, offering it to me.
My soul pangs at the sight, but I force a smile and say, “No, thank you.”
They all look surprised, but set the bowl back down.
I look at Andros and take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
“One more thing,” the first maid says. “I almost forgot.” She rushes over and comes back with dark blue boots made of soft leather.
I lift my feet, and the women help put on soft stockings and then the boots, then lace them up.
A sigh escapes my lips as I wiggle my feet into them. Shoes. Actual shoes.
Andros opens the door, and