Page 9 of Magic in the Woods
I figured I should lie back down, pretendingonce again I was unconscious, void of the world. Instead I sat there watching him.
Water dripped from the cloth into the bucket as he squeezed it, taking his time folding it before turning around.
“Ah!” he yelled, dropping the washcloth. It landed on the floor with asplat.
I screamed. The sound leaving my throat before I could stop it. He stood there. I sat there. Our eyes locked, terror on both of our faces.
“What in the world…” A woman ran through the doorway, looking back and forth between the man and me. She wore an apron, the same discolored white as the quilt. Her hair, a light-red color, was tied up in a bun on top of her head, tendrils of hair that had escaped, framing her face.
“Luke, get out of here.” Her voice was authoritative.
Luke, the young man with the washcloth, the one who’d found me in the woods, picked up the cloth from the floor and set it over the side of the bucket and walked out of the room, glancing back at me before turning the corner out of sight.
“You’re safe,” the woman said. “No one’s going to hurt you here, especially not my son.” She walked over to the chair and bucket, taking the discarded washcloth in her hands. “I promise you he’s a kind man.” After re-dipping it into the water, she squeezed out the excess liquid and walked over to the bed. “Lie back.”
I lay down without a fight—I knew not to mess with a maternal woman. My grandmother had been the same way.
With the back of my head framed by the overly stuffed pillow, she pressed the cool washcloth against my forehead. My eyes reluctantly closed. The cool cloth felt amazing against my skin, which was covered in a thin layer of sweat. I might have moaned a bit.
“It’s about time you opened your eyes,” she said. “Your body’s been ready for a while, but your mind just hasn’t.”
I opened my mouth to speak. A few incoherent sounds emerged. She put her index finger under my chin, closing my mouth. “Shush, now. You need your strength. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”
“Can I come in?” That small, honeyed voice came through the doorway.
I turned to see a young girl, standing in the doorway with a steaming bowl in her hands.
“Come in, set it here.” The woman motioned to the side table alongside the bed.
The girl set the bowl next to the lamp. She backed away several steps, her hands toying with the apron she was wearing over her cream dress. The girl had the same blonde hair as the man who’d found me—who the woman had just called Luke. They were probably siblings, although at least a decade apart in age.
“Now that you’re awake, what would you like to do first? Eat?” The woman motioned to the steaming bowl of broth. “Bathe?” She looked toward the bowl of water on the dresser. “We have a shower, but I don’t know if you feel strong enough to stand yet.”
I sat under the quilt, frozen at their questions. They were askingmewhatIwanted to do? I scrunched my nose. Having choices had never been an option for me. I’d never gotten to decide anything—and now they were just going to let an inexperienced decider…decide? What if I made the wrong choice, did something that made them unhappy?
I sat in the foreign feeling. WhatdidI want to do? I couldn’t find the words.
Instead I reached over to the bowl ofsteaming broth and shakily brought it to my lap, careful not to spill a drop on the quilt.
I looked up at the woman and girl for approval.
The woman nodded, and instantly, my shoulders relaxed. “We didn’t want to change you while you were…sleeping.” She looked over my green plaid dress I still had on. It looked wrinkled and stained. My skin suddenly felt dirty. “Emily, will you fetch some clean clothes?” She looked up and down at my form beneath the quilt. “A few items from your closet should work.”
Emily nodded and disappeared for a few moments before she returned with a set of folded clothes, the same off-white shade that everyone in the house seemed to wear.
The woman nodded at me again. “We’ll leave you to it,” she said before they both left, shutting the door behind them, the latch clicking closed.
I took a minute, my breathing going from rapid to measured. The broth was warm in my lap, and the steam brought the scent to my nose.
My eyes darted around the empty room. There was no one here to tell me to eat. No one watching me to make sure I finished my food. I raised the spoon to my lips. It was the same broth I’d remembered tasting before, when I’d been in a semiconscious state and the family had dribbled the broth down my throat. My eyes closed involuntarily as I savored the rich soup. It was thick—full of fat bubbles and minerals I could taste on my tongue.
I gulped down several more spoonfuls before I set the bowl back on the side table, only half empty. Grandmother had always made me clean my plate, not wanting to be wasteful, and I hadn’t dared to question any of the food the shifters had provided me with. This was the first time I’d chosen to be done simply because I felt full.
The green plaid dress suddenly felt repulsive to me,something I needed to remove so I could be clean, unburdened from what had followed me to this place.
I stood up on wobbly legs, letting the dress fall off my shoulders and down my slim frame to the floor. I stepped out of the dress, my footsteps surer, sturdier. I was naked, though suddenly stronger than I’d ever been. Leaving the dress on the floor felt like I was leaving my old life behind. I was free. Free of the life I’d been living for eighteen years. In a new world where I wasn’t some innocent, sheltered child. I was a woman. Dafni Sarracenia.
I took the washcloth from the bucket of water—the clean water against my skin was soothing. I pressed the cloth harder against my skin, trying to scrub away not only the dirt but the film of my mother’s wrath that never left my skin. The water turned gray, a color fitting for the filth that was my mother.
