Page 45 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
“Drowning again, are we?” she teases, her tone softened by the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
I wipe the water from my face, forcing a dry laugh.
“Don’t worry,” I reply, my voice light despite the storm brewing beneath. “I won't die before letting you dress me up in whatever gown and trinkets you’ve chosen for this evening.”
Sera smirks but says nothing as she moves closer, her hands automatically reaching for my hair. I let her work, her fingers deftly massaging soap into my scalp, the familiarity of her touch both grounding and bittersweet.
No one touches my bare hands anymore. Not since I learned to shield them. It’s an unspoken rule that even Sera follows. She skirts close to boundaries, but never crosses that line. As she rinses the soap from my hair, her focus intent, I close my eyes, letting the motion soothe the dull ache still lingering in my chest.
The cool numbness in my fingertips remains, a reminder of the magic I used earlier, but I don’t mind. The lingering cold is a small price to pay for keeping my emotions in check. Tonight, I can’t afford to falter.
“Why were you crying?” Sera’s voice is soft but pointed, the words cutting through the quiet like a blade. Her hands still, waiting for a response.
The question catches me off guard. My lips part, but no words come. The truth lingers at the tip of my tongue, bitter and biting, but I swallow it down. Sera waits, her silence gentle but insistent.
“I heard you,” she continues, her tone tinged with hesitation. “I wanted to come to you, but…” Her voice falters, trailing off into a quiet sigh. “Are you okay?”
Her words threaten to crack the fragile shell of composure I’ve worked so hard to rebuild. I glance down at the water, hugging my knees as the bath’s warmth wraps around me. My arms tighten against my legs, and I lean forward, letting the silence stretch.
After a moment, Sera’s hands resume their work, the gentle motion of her fingers rinsing away the last traces of soap. It feels grounding amid the chaos swirling inside me, but her earlier question lingers, unanswered and unavoidable.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says softly, her voice steady and calm. “But you know I’m here, right?”
“I know,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. The words feel meaningless, but they’re all I can manage.
Sera doesn’t press further, her touch remaining steady and familiar as she finishes rinsing my hair. The silence is both a comfort and a reminder of the words left unsaid.
I sink lower into the water, letting the gentle ripples wash over me as Sera’s hands leave my hair. Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she retrieves a linen cloth. The cool air brushes against my skin when I rise from the bath, water cascading down in shimmering streams. Without a word, Sera steps forward, wrapping the cloth around me with quick, masterful movements that somehow feel both efficient and tender.
Once my body is dry, she wraps another towel carefully around my damp hair. Her movements are methodical, the quiet between us comfortable, almost meditative. I welcome the stillness.
After a moment, Sera picks up a brush with a knowing smile. My hair, though not thick, seems to defy the laws of reason, a mass of soft waves that refuses to be tamed. She often teases that the gods must have granted me magic just to wrestle with it, and for once, I almost believe her.
“What are you thinking for my hair tonight?” I ask, hoping to easethe tension in the room. This part of our routine has always been Sera’s favorite.
She stands behind me, her reflection meeting mine in the mirror as she studies my hair with a thoughtful expression. Her fingers sift through the damp strands, and a faint smile plays at her lips. After a moment, she tilts her head and nods, her voice calm and warm.
“I’ll take care of it,” she says softly. “Just dry it for me. Tonight needs to be perfect.”
I lift my hands to my hair, closing my eyes as magic flows through my fingertips. Darkness stirs, unfurling like a vine in bloom, slow and purposeful as it winds through each strand. It wraps around my hair with refined grace, drying it instantly. The waves tumble down my back with a soft, shimmering glow that borders on ethereal.
When I open my eyes, Sera’s expression is a mix of awe and frustration.
“Oh, come on!” she quips, rolling her eyes.
I smile faintly at her, feeling a flicker of warmth rise in my chest. It’s such a simple thing—her playful frustration—but it’s enough to crack through the icy layers I’ve built up. A laugh bubbles up inside me, and for a breath, I want to let it out. In this moment, I’m just a girl with a friend, laughing at something as simple as magic and hair. That simplicity, the warmth of it, makes my heart ache with longing. I’ve never felt safe in my own skin, not even before all this—the expectations, the crowns, the masks I wear. I never truly belonged, not in this body, not in this life.
I smile faintly at her, then turn fully to face her.
“I’m okay, I promise,” I say, my voice soft but steady.
Sera exhales, her shoulders relaxing as she grins.
“Let’s make you devastatingly gorgeous,” she murmurs, her tone regaining its usual playful edge.
Sera moves behind me, her hands quick and gentle as she starts brushing through my hair, smoothing out the strands. She carefully separates sections, weaving them into an intricate braid, pausing only to pick up small black diamond pins—stones I’ve come to cherish for their quiet elegance—to place them into my hair. Gently, she pulls afew wisps of hair free to frame my face, adding a final gentle, ethereal touch.
A tightness coils in me as we move to the main room, where Sera has already laid out the gown, its deep crimson fabric shimmering faintly in the evening light, beautiful and daunting all at once. Something about it twists my stomach—perhaps the weight of what it represents. Tonight, it’s not just a dress; it’s another layer of the facade I must wear.
