Sparkling Ivy

11

"It's a little messy, so please excuse me," Telemachus stammered, fingers pulling on the edge of his chiton. Abigale had no words. Air was drawn from her lungs as she gazed at the splendour surrounding her. Her mouth dropped open. "Don't worry, you're excused."

Never in all her years had the witch laid eyes upon such grandeur. She just stood there, awestruck. This is a place fit for Xenia herself.

Unlike the usual limestone and wooden structures of the poorer citizens, the home of the Odyssecoi was moulded from the flesh of Pentelikon marble. Tall sculpted beams covered in intricate carvings made a neat row just beyond the threshold, with dangling pieces of oregano strung between them. Abigale's throat tightened as the heavy aroma filled the air. That's no ward against my evil.

"This way Abigale."

Telemachus was staring at her expectantly, pointing down a long hall. The witch nodded and followed, her sandals slapping on the polished floor. Abi couldn't help but gaze about. Everything in the villa looked expensive or old.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chives, the type of scents that weighed on the lungs. The interior was a sharp square that surrounded a large fire pit at the heart of the place. The fire there licked the air greedily, amber flames dancing like a boy with silk.

Telemachus said nothing as they walked, his eyes glued anywhere but Abigale's face. Typical rich fucker. The witch drew her arms closer, shuddering as the hollow stone eyes of the man's ancestors leered down at her. It was an honour to commemorate one's lineage. An honour only the wealthiest and prominent could afford.

The tall statues lined the perimeter of the fire pit, their harsh lines glowing in the falling darkness. Most of them looked the same; muscled, strong jaw, well-groomed curls and lips slightly parted in masculine grace. Abigale snorted. How does Telemachus tell them apart?

Abigale wasn't able to snoop any further than the hall, for it seemed her host had ensured all the doors but one be closed. Even Abi wasn't stupid enough to steal from the Odyssecoi, however tempting.

The witch swooped a hand through her bouncy curls. "I am surprised how empty your home is, Telemachus. I had expected to see your father or siblings. Is this your home alone?"

The man snorted and flashed a bitter smile. "No. The men are preoccupied and my mother is working the loom. What business is it yours?"

There was a shred of resentment on his tongue, a quiet jab at her. Abigale's cheeks flushed and her teeth drew. "Poor Telemachus...would you rather work the loom with your mummy, or pay your debt? Hm?"

He whipped around, eyes fiery. A muscle in his jaw pulsed. He nodded to the single open door. "Quiet down, or I shall be undone."

Abi raised a brow. With feet like a doe she sprang past him and toward the room still illuminated from the light of the pit. With silent steps she approached, green eyes squinting.

Her shoulders slumped a little. A matronly woman sat at a loom, soft hazel eyes pinned to the story she was weaving. Tiny white flowers were woven into her chestnut curls. A youthful glow emanated from her rich brown skin in a way no one could describe as but dazzling. It recalled an early memory; a time long past when Abigale's own mother had sat at a smaller loom. Her mother had not glowed though. No, there was only sad mourning there. No glow. No stunning beauty. Only deeply seeded hurt.

Abigale withdrew, throat tight. Enough. That's enough.

Behind her came Telemachus, all clumsy feet and huffing breath. Abi gasped as he seized her wrist and yanked her back. She let out a soft hiss. The girl peered at Telemachus with wide furious eyes. Abigale jabbed a finger in his face. "You never touch me."

"My mother -"

Abi snarled, heart racing. "I saw her, I did nothing. Fuck off and give me my bath."

The man blinked and released her. His lips pursed as the girl rubbed her wrist gingerly. Abigale scowled in return.

"Your bath, Abigale."

The huge doors scraped against the rough tiles as the servants tugged them open at the wave of Telemachus's hand. Abi's lips parted with wonder as the bath house was revealed to her. Maybe this was a fair trade.

The man beckoned her forward, eyes glimmering with impatience. Just like he would for a lady with a name, Telemachus delicately took her hand and led her forward. Abigale sucked in a deep breath as thick perfumed air wrapped around her, caressed the tip of her tongue as the servants rushed in behind their master and his guest, their sandals scuffling on the stone floor as they creaked the doors shut behind them.

Warm pumpkin light dimly illuminated the space, sending glittering shards of sparks across the still water of the bath. The bath was larger than Abi had expected for a private bath house, although she didn't have much to compare it to. Still, she was pretty certain that very few were topped with flower petals.

Telemachus steered her to a chaise and sat her there. He turned his attention to the two servants, their arms at their sides expectantly. "Give her anything she desires - and lather her in soap; she is filthy."

Before Abigale could retort Telemachus retreated to a shadowy corner.

The witch wrinkled her nose, lip curled. Had to bite the hand that feeds you. Fucking fool. Abi sniffed and gracefully rose to her feet. She said nothing as the servants hurried to her, nimble fingers carefully removing her stola. The girl sighed sharply as they fully rid her of her clothes. Just enjoy this. It's a break.

A soft hand touched her arm. Abi swallowed. "You can speak freely to me, friend. I'm no one special."

The servant flinched a little. Her voice was raspy as she replied, "We will help you into the bath, mistress."

Abigale nodded and let herself be gently guided down the steep steps into the depths of the teal water. Her eyes partly closed as the warmth seeped into her ivory skin. The servants' hands slipped away and Abi submerged herself.

Heat touched every fibre of her body. Her heart was unfrozen for a split second. Her head resurfaced. A gasp of laughter erupted from her lips as the cooler air kissed her cheeks.

With a smile stretching her lips, Abi laid back, floating amongst the pink petals sprinkled around her. There was no wild wind cutting her face, no bird song or insecure paranoia of someone about to creep up on her. There was only her shallow breaths. The crackling of the hot braziers burning in each corner of the space. The gentle lapping of the water as it rippled.

Abigale inhaled and quickly swam to the edge. She beckoned to the servants.

Their hands were soft, firm, as they popped open vials and began to lather the girl with oils. Abi said nothing. She let them scrub at her dirt-covered arms. Let them massage her aching back. Let them rake their steady hands through her curls, rejuvenate them with heavy perfumes and slick soaps. Abi let herself be taken care of.

It's been a while, I guess.