Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter Eight: Dawn of Fog And Glass

I turn and gasp at the room before me.

Unlike my old Marksberg dorm, this room is designed to hold only one person, with a single bed waiting patiently in the far corner.

Like in the citrus room, the walls and carpets are pure white, and old instincts I didn't know I still had make me take off my shoes. Sprinklers dot the ceiling every few feet, ready to release a heavy citrus perfume on command. Two long, fully-sealed windows on the far wall reveal a green courtyard shrouded in Fog. A white dresser and small closet decorate the right wall, and a plain painting of blue and grey boxes covers the left. I know what painting I'll be replacing that with.

The room isn't large, but the brilliant white makes it seem bigger than it is, playing tricks with my mind. Makes it seem cleaner, nicer, more modern.

An open doorframe to the bathroom draws my attention. The bathroom has the same sprinklers dripping from the ceiling. I wonder for a brief moment if the shower faucet is merely another sprinkler, but a quick run of the water tells me otherwise. A glass door in the back of the shower catches my attention.

"That's the steamer." I jump at Adam's voice. She leans against the doorway, arms folded over her chest. She nods up to the empty, tiny chamber behind me. "Twice a day you're supposed to go in there before your shower for a three-minute, full-body citrus cleanse."

A grin creeps up my face. "I have a citrus sauna in my room?"

She laughs. "Oh, definitely not. What, you think you're just going to sit in there for three minutes while a relaxing grapefruit-y mist hangs in the room? —Don't answer that, actually. No, it's freezing water that attacks you from all sides for three minutes, so heavily perfumed that it makes your nose itch and your eyes water. You should feel lucky that you're not allergic to any citrus fruits, as far as we know from your profile."

I frown. Darn. I was totally looking forwards to a sauna in the middle of my room. Orion would hate that.

She nods to the shower. "We're already late. The assembly starts in twelve minutes; we're supposed to arrive fifteen minutes before the start time. Have your shower, then get into your clothes."

She leaves, the door clicking silently after her. I take that as a sign to get into the shower. It's hot, steam pillowing over the floor in gentle waves, and washes away the thick grime of the morning. The grime of saying goodbye, of Rhymie, of annoying white walls and annoying white boys and annoying white lies.

The water is almost calming enough to drown out the constant buzzing of glass. Here, in the bathroom, it's worse than the other places. I feel it all—the window, the massive mirror hanging over the sink, the glass walls and door of the shower and the citrus non-sauna. I bite hard on my lip and focus on that pain instead. Easier said than done.

Adams is standing by the bed when I exit the bathroom, my body and hair towelled and dripping cold water into the carpet. She gently places a pale, faded blue uniform on the bed, identical to the clothes the other kids had worn.

"It's a sample uniform," she explains. "Just until we can get you fitted for your personalized uniform. It might be a tad large on you."

Tad is an understatement. The pant legs, which fit comfortably like sweat pants on the others, flutter across the floor. Many of the students, I've noticed, had chosen to roll up their sleeves to their elbows. Like I have a choice. The ends of these sleeves end nearly five inches after my hands do. I'm forced to pull up the sleeves until they bunch just below my elbows. Fun.

"You look great," Adams lies. I grimace.

"Is this really the smallest sample size?" I ask, forcing the whine out of my voice.