I move toward it instinctively.
My body feels wrong—stiff and sore in places that don't usually ache, weak in ways I'm not accustomed to. The poison did a number on me, apparently. Even with the antidote working, I can tell it'll be days before I'm back to full strength.
If I get days.
If they don't kill me first.
If—
I stop the spiral before it can fully form.
One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.
The bathroom is as luxurious as the bedroom.
Massive shower with multiple heads. Deep soaking tub that could fit four people comfortably. Double vanity with what looks like actual gold fixtures. A heated towel rack—heated—because apparently rich people can't be bothered to use regular temperature towels.
On the marble counter, laid out with obvious care, is a set of pajamas.
Soft cotton.
Simple but high-quality.
Pink, I notice, and something in my chest cracks at the thoughtfulness of it. Someone chose these specifically. Someonepaid attention to what I might like instead of just grabbing the first thing available.
Sage?
One of the others?
Does it matter?
I strip out of whatever I'm currently wearing—a nightgown, I realize, something lacy and clearly not mine—and examine myself in the mirror.
The reflection that stares back is a mess.
Dark circles under my eyes, prominent enough to look like bruises. Pallor that makes my usually fair skin look almost grey. Chapped lips, tangled hair, the general appearance of someone who recently died and was dragged back to life against her will.
But I'm clean.
Surprisinglyclean.
I remember being sweaty. Remember being covered in blood—bits of it, anyway, from the men I killed before the theater, from the cages, from the performance that was supposed to be my last act of defiance.
Someone washed me.
While I was unconscious.
The realization should bother me. Should trigger all my alarms about vulnerability, about being touched without consent, about the dangers of trusting people I barely know.
But it doesn't.
Because if they wanted me dead, I'd be dead.
If they wanted to hurt me, they've had hours of opportunity.
Instead, they cleaned me, dressed me, put me in a comfortable bed, and left pajamas out for when I woke up.
Who are these people?
