sᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀs || 𝙊𝙣 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙙 ||

sᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀs, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪᴠ

The morning greets Omorfiá in gentle rays of sunlight dancing on her face. Her window is open, the breeze carrying in the warmth of the day, the sounds of songbirds, and the smells of the land; scents of spices and cooking foods, of sun-baked earth and the melting morning dew.

A knock sounds on her door. Omorfiá jolts, hand gripping the handle of her concealed blade.

"Who approaches?"

"A servant, Okusama.. we have a bath and clothes prepared for you."

It's a voice Omorfiá doesn't recognize. A soft-spoken female, obviously fearful of Omorfia's commanding tone.

The once-assassin sighs, reluctant to rise from her bed but nonetheless doing so. She is tired of the dirt and grime clinging to her skin.

Shuffling towards the door, Omorfiá slides it open, revealing a shorter, youthful and beautiful girl waiting on the other side. She's dressed in a simple kimono that she wears far better than Omorfiá could.

The girl nervously bows her head in respect, shuffling back to let Omorfiá out. "Th-this way..."

Omorfiá watches her step away, silently contemplating and analyzing. She studies her pace and movements, reading anxiety and caution in the girl's body language.

Despite the easy option to walk the other way, fleeing this home and everyone within it, the concept of a fresh bath is far too great a temptation for Omorfiá to refuse. She follows the timid servant, eyes roaming the halls as she's led to the bathhouse, adjacent to the main house.

In a passage of sweet-smelling soaps and water, Omorfiá is renewed and refreshed at the end of her wash. Her skin is once again porcelain white, the envy of the servants aiding her. They tend to her hair, brushing it and adding oils to make it smooth and shiny. They fasten it in a gentle plait at Omorfiá's request, laying over her shoulder. She's clothed in a silk kimono, bathed in a brilliant blue color.

With the dirt and grime scrubbed away from her skin, something else is cleaned and polished within Omorfiá. She's kinder, soft-spoken and smiling to the chatty maids. A weight is lifted off her shoulders, and she can breathe again.

A sudden knock on the bathhouse doors disturbs the chatter and conversation, turning the room silent. Omorfiá watches the figure that blocks the outside light from slipping through the cracks of the door.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I was sent to fetch Omorfiá. We ask for her presence at breakfast."

Omorfiá's eyes narrow as she stands. It sounds nothing like Leonardo. It is more studious, his words carefully picked from the pages of a book.

He sat at the table with a book and pen— Donatello.

"I will be there shortly."

Omorfiá watches the shadow pass by the door with her words, leaving her sight. She finds herself expected at the table, meeting the thought with slight dread. But, then again.. she did give her word, in some form, to be there.

Omorfiá bids the maids goodbye with a gentle bow of her head, standing from her seat. Her bare feet pad against the sanded and polished wood floor, sliding the door open.

Outside, Donatello waits patiently, standing as the tallest of his brothers, book in hand. Hearing the door part for Omorfiá's exit, he turns and bows in respect.

"Omorfiá."

Omorfiá views him with scrutiny, her gaze passing over him in search of his obvious weaknesses.

And then from behind him, one appears.

"As you may know, I am Donatello— this is my student, Grace."