Page 26 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
The water responds instantly, deepening into a soft violet hue as the familiar scent of lavender thickens in the steam. Slowly, another note begins to bloom—a darker, warmer fragrance that winds through the lavender without overwhelming it.Nightrose.
Rich and velvety, with a whisper of smoke and sweetness beneath it. The surface stirs. Petals begin to form, rising from the water like breath pulled from memory. A single nightrose blooms from the water, its black-violet petals edged in silver, delicate yet vivid. I reach for it, cupping it in my palm, watching as droplets slide from its silken edges. A soft smile touches my lips. A moment of stillness, conjured just for me.
But it vanishes just as quickly, shattered by the crash of metal behind me.
I twist toward the noise, startled, and spot the tray of milk and honey spilled across the tiles, a sticky mess glistening under the light—my maid standing frozen beside it, wide-eyed. Her trembling hands cover her mouth, her wide eyes fixed on me, as though I’ve done something criminal. Her fear is almost palpable, cutting through the warmth of the bath like a cold wind. I meet her gaze, exhaling through my nose before rolling my eyes. It’s always like this—shock, fear, judgment.
Without a word, I sink beneath the surface of the water, letting itswallow me whole. The violet ripples close over my head, the world above dissolving into muffled silence. Down here, the pressure of the water wraps around me like a shield, insulating me from stares and whispers. Here, I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t have to mask the way I move or breathe or exist. For a few precious moments, I am untouchable.
But I can’t stay submerged forever. Slowly, I resurface, the air in the room feeling heavier now, more tense. My maid is gone, replaced by Sera, who leans casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a familiar smirk tugging at her lips.
“You know,” she says dryly, “every time you vanish into a deep, dark pool like that, people are going to think you’re drowning—or worse.”
A soft, bitter laugh escapes me as I rise from the bath, reaching for the towel draped nearby. Wrapping it around myself, I pad to the vanity and sit down, tossing my damp braid over one shoulder. My scarred hands find the jar of lotion, and I begin carefully smoothing it into my skin, each motion grounding me.
Sera doesn’t move, but I can feel her eyes on me, discerning yet softened by concern.
"Are you okay?" Sera asks, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
The question lingers in the air, pressing against me like the weight of the water moments before. I hadn’t thought I wasn’t okay, but her words burrow under my skin, planting doubt where there wasn’t any before. My hands falter, hovering over the jar of lotion, and I glance at her. I summon a small smile.
"I'm fine." My voice is even, yet so close to breaking.
Sera doesn’t move from her place by the door, but I feel her watching me—not intrusively, but with a familiar patience she always seems to carry, like she’s waiting for me to return to myself.
Then, slowly, she steps forward, the soft rustle of her skirt the only sound in the room. She kneels at the edge of the bath and reaches toward the water, her fingers brushing the surface with reverence as she lifts the nightrose from where it floats.
She smiles down at it, cradling the bloom as if it were sacred.
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly, her voice just above a whisper.
My brows pull together, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. It lingers, softening into something warm and genuine.
To her, I've never been a monster. And it means more than she will ever know.
But the moment passes too quickly, dissolving like steam in the air. I rise and move to the wardrobe, opening its doors and letting my fingers drift over the array of soft fabrics hanging there. The textures offer a distraction, something tangible to tether myself to. Each gown seems too extravagant, too demanding for the night ahead.
The silence stretches. I know she’s giving me space, waiting for me to acknowledge whatever I’m holding back. My fingers hover indecisively over the gowns until Sera speaks again, her voice lighter this time.
“Do I need to choose for you?” she teases, a hint of a smile in her tone.
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I reply, though my hands remain still.
Her melodic laugh rings out, cutting through the quiet heaviness in the room.
“You’re hopeless,” she says with a faint shake of her head. “Move aside. I’ll save you from yourself.”
I step back, folding my arms as I watch her cross to the wardrobe with her usual enthusiasm. Even from a distance, her energy radiates, her hands deftly sifting through fabrics and embellishments as if piecing together a puzzle. She cares about the details I’d rather ignore, and for a fleeting moment, I feel a wave of gratitude for her.
“Here,” Sera announces triumphantly, holding up a black tulle gown.
I blink at her, arching a brow.
“Black? Really?” I ask, tilting my head. “Weren’t you the one who said black doesn’t do me justice? Something about how I ‘fade into the shadows like a brooding gargoyle’?”
Sera pauses, tapping her chin as if she’s giving my words serious thought.
