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Every step Asena took hurt. Somehow, she hobbled to her room and lay on the bed. Yet again, she debated why she'd subjected herself to such torture.
The 'makeover' was a disappointment. Unlike the human movies it wasn't fun. No preppy music score, wide smiles, hysterically happy girls. No montage of the ugly duckling becoming the swan, with a few comic moments thrown in for fun. She struggled to get her dry, damaged hair cut in the style she had sported since her teens. The stylists rejected her request. So she took a pair of scissors and chopped off the overgrown length, which caused them to overreact.
Her experience at the Eros safe house in Bulgaria made her question her life choices. Sure, the facials stripped her sunburned skin but left it raw and red. But shaped brows couldn't compensate for the pain of having them plucked. And waxing... her armpits and nether regions were on fire.
The result—she resembled a cleaner but thinner version of her old self. Underwhelmed, she resented the demeaning process.
Moggie often reminded her to stop bellyaching; she had no reason to complain. That was true. The staff were professional. Her medical reports cleared her. Other than being trapped within the estate, she was good so far. On a single sheet, she'd listed her limits and terms, which Eros accepted. There were no red flags, except her file did not contain the list of expenses. Her requests for those details had yielded no results yet.
They had etiquette classes in the afternoon. She knew how to differentiate between dessert, soup, and dinner spoons, and how to use a fork and knife. It wasn't enough. Now 'experts' taught them to identify twenty-six pieces of cutlery. Or ten types of glasses and alcohol. World cuisines. Names and ingredients of all kinds of drinks. The varieties of coffee and tea, and how to prepare them. All this was superfluous information, but vital to snag a royal or alpha, and become a lady. Often she slept during the 'training'. That earned her the unexpected reputation of being rebellious.
In the Olden territories, the basics differed. She had to convert Celsius into Fahrenheit, and from metric to the imperial system. Familiarise herself with local geography. Learn the human and shifter maps of the continent with its many countries and varied laws. These lands were as alien to her as the surface of the moon or Mars.
'Then orient yourself,' Moggie badgered her.
She would if she could. There were no books on the layout of the constellation and orbiting celestial bodies. Only coffee table books on various royals and landmarks. The whitewashed histories of the 'exalted' families, and the Great War. The others sang praises of the current Emperor's achievements.
Time had slowed down. It'd be another week before the dreaded viewing where, through one-way glass, she would be ogled like an animal in a zoo.
Duma entered her room, like always, without knocking at all hours of the day and night. She'd even come to recognize his footfalls. Today, he'd draped his bunched-up vest on his shoulder. Welts covered his stomach.
