Insurrection [On Hold]

27 Healed

This woman makes me feel like I'm standing on a merry-go-round, albeit a slow one. Her heels click against the polished marble as she walks around me, examining me. I'm not sure who she is, but she seems important. Her long gray pants are connected to a shear top; the chest part covered in a gold material. She screams sophisticated.

            Less than half an hour ago I was transported from the prison to the palace. The sky outside the window to my left is dark. Early morning I think.

            Her nose twitches. "You smell revolting." She brushes her long black curls over her shoulder.

            I suck my bottom lip inside my mouth. What does she expect? I've been in a prison and wearing the same clothes for weeks now, and the showers aren't the most thorough.

            She stops her circling and approaches me. "What is your name?"

            "Sana." I wish Barrow and I actually took the time to come up with something that isn't half of Raksana.

            Her hand reaches toward my hair, but before her fingers touch it, she lets her hand fall to her side and shakes it like she has a bug crawling on it. "Your hair looks like"-- she cringes-- "tar. Probably infested with lice. That can be taken care of. Your face is another matter." She places her hand on her cheek. "Cryro-surgery can take care of that."

I'll be recognizable.

            "No."

            "Excuse me?"

            "I mean, why does it matter what my face looks like? I'm just working in the kitchens."

            She sighs. "I know my kitchens, and my staff likes to look at things that are pleasurable." She doesn't care what the slaves in the kitchen look at. Her point is clear enough to me. But I can't get cryro. I need these scars. Without them Every will recognize me if he sees me, or if any royal family member does. This is a disaster. And Barrow did a horrible job coming up with my name so that doesn't help in the slightest. As long as I stay in the kitchens maybe I'll be all right.

            She turns and walks to the door in front of us. "Come."

            I follow her through the door which leads into a passage that I figure runs behind the rooms of the palace.

            "This is how servants travel to where they're needed," she says.

            She stops before a door and scans her hand. It slides open. Inside on both sides are rows of stalls. The air is steamy, and I hear water running.

            "The majority of the showers aren't being used right now. I suggest you shower before everyone start pouring in. I'll wait here. You'll find all you need inside."

            I nod and walk to the showers on the right.

            "And don't put those rags back on."

            I stop momentarily before resuming my walk. I don't hear the shower running inside the second stall. I try the door and find it unlocked. An actual shower head hangs on the wall; my hair can finally be washed thoroughly. I lock the door and peel off my clothes, my back not as strained as it used to be by this simple task. Turning the water on, I set it to hot and step underneath the spray, the water relaxing my back. I wash all the grime off my body, starting to feel clean. My hair proves difficult to work through but I conquer it. My hands end up covered with strings of hair.

            I shut off the shower and look for a towel. There's not one. Not good.

            From underneath me hot air blows upward. I jump but settle down when I realize it's to dry me off. I still need a towel. She said I can't wear my old clothes, and I don't want to cross her. Then again maybe I do. There's a chance I could be sent back, and after all the prison may very well be safer for me.