Steam curled around me, the warm water lapping at my skin as I sank deeper into the bath. The heat soaked into my tired muscles, easing aches I didn't even know I carried. My power hummed beneath my skin, faint but steady, like a pulse I hadn't felt in months. It was exhausting, this slow return of strength, but it was also undeniably healing. I could feel it knitting together more than just my body—it was mending the fragile pieces of my soul.
I exhaled, for the first time in so long, I didn't feel hollow. I'd managed one small meal, hopefully in a few weeks my limbs would be looking a little less gaunt.
The faint scent of lavender and eucalyptus wrapped around me, grounding me as I closed my eyes. This bath, this moment, was a luxury I hadn't dared to dream of. My fingers brushing the water's surface, sending ripples outward, and I let myself float in the quiet for a while.
But peace was fleeting.
Once I'd finished bathing, my gaze caught on the mirror across the room. I froze, my heart stuttering. I hadn't truly looked at myself since the dungeon. The thought of it made my stomach twist, but something in me wouldn't let it go.
Wrapping a towel around my body, water dripping onto the marble floor, I made my way over. My movements were slow, hesitant, as if the mirror itself was something to be feared. I stopped a few steps away, staring at my reflection.
At first, I noticed the changes—the colour returning to my skin, the faint glow of my power as it coursed through me, knitting together wounds that should've taken weeks to heal. But then my eyes drifted lower.
Taking a shaky breath, I turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of my back in the reflection.
The scars stretched across my skin in a violent latticework, some jagged and red, others silvered with age. Each line was a memory I didn't want to relive, a piece of pain etched into me forever. My fingers brushed over one of the deeper scars, the sensation foreign and unwelcome.
It was overwhelming.
I tightened the towel around me, my chest constricting. My power stirred in reaponse, a faint flicker of energy pulsing through my veins. It felt almost like a comforting touch, but it wasn't enough to stop the tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes.
The knock at the door started me, breaking the moment.
"Ziláa?" Azriel's voice came through, calm and steady. "You've been in there a while. Are you all right?"
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to find my voice, "I'm fine," I called back, though it wavered slightly.
A pause then: "take your time. I'll be here."
The words warmed me more than I expected. I took a deep breath, turning away from the mirror and slipping into the clothes he'd left for me. The soft, loose fabric was a comfort against my skin, another reminder I was no longer in that dungeon.
When I opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, Azriel was already waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up as I entered, his hazel eyes softening as they swept over me.
"You look....better," he said, his voice gentle but firm, as though daring me to argue.
"I feel better." I admitted, though my voice was quiet.
His lips twitched into the faintest smile, and he patted the space beside him. "Come sit."
I hesitated for a moment before walking over and sitting beside him. His shadows shifted immediately, curling around me like a protective cloak.
"You're still exhausted," he said, his tone matter of fact.
"It's my power," I explained, laying back on the bed. "It's coming back, but it's...draining. It's healing me, but it takes so much."
YOU ARE READING
A Court of Watchful Shadows
Fantasy"I don't need to tell you pricks anything, I have my own reasons for being here and they don't concern three idiots who won't-" I was cut off as a force came slamming into me. I look up in anger at the man who was now towering over me, his nostrils...
