A tub of warm, sweetly scented relief washes over me.
“Good,” I say, swallowing the rest of my last bite. “Because I enjoy being friends. I’m appreciative of everything you’ve done for me.”
He smiles and shrugs before he cuts into his first bite. “How did the interview go? You spent the whole day there.”
“They offered me the position,” I respond before I take another solid bite of my turkey leg. I chew faster so I can keep talking. “All thanks to you. I never would have had the opportunity if it weren’t for your influence.” I pause, looking back at him. How does he have so much sway at the asylum?
“I’m a Survivah bureaucrat—a leading board member,” he answers quickly, as if reading the question blossoming over my face.
Survivah. I only know the term in relation to what we’d call infirmaries, it’s responsible for the funding for the doctors and the asylum. It’s where I woke up after the beating. My father. The club swinging into the back of my head.
“It’s the brother to Demechnef’s side of the government. Survivah covers health, general nutrition, mental illness, and religious requirements. As opposed to Demechnef that covers the societal cosmetic standards, discipline, order, and—war.”
I nod, chewing slowly. That’s why the staff was trying to impress me. So that I’d report back to him. He’s on the board that controls their income.
“Did you see the patients? Their methods?” He takes a sip of wine.
I frown. “I signed an agreement stating that I wouldn’t talk about what I saw.”
Another long exhale. “Is that right?” He places a small square of steak carefully between his teeth, pulling his fork out slowly. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me anything of what you saw?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sparing you the ugliest of details.”
I catch a splash of annoyance in his eyes—fleeting, like a match that refuses to light. He sips his wine and smiles. “Fine. Then should we discuss your standards moving forward?”
The wordstandardshas the same upsetting effect as a fork scraping against a plate. I stop eating. Set my fork down. Straighten my shoulders.
“I don’t catch your meaning.”
He pats his lips with a napkin. “There are certain standards of the society to uphold in the city. I can imagine that you haven’t grown up accustomed to it, which is perfectly fine, of course, but you’ll still need to learn and adapt.”
I know where this is going. The starvation. Long nightly routines. Soaking in rose water. Lathering in oil and avoiding the sun. The lady-doll regimen.
Even Scarlett had to succumb to putting in the effort and upkeep. She may not have soaked in a warm bathtub steeped with dried herbs and essential oils for hours at a time, but she never went to sleep without buttering her skin with the right concoctions she’d make herself. She stayed out of the sun and kept her skin from darkening. And her meals were small and proportioned.
“I’ve already filled your wardrobe and vanity with the proper necessities. But you’ll need to get used to weekly measurements, days without supper and, of course, vigorous cleaning and prepping every night.” He spears two berries onto his fork, waiting to eat them as he anticipates my response.
My hands are now clasped in my lap. The urge to indulge in more of this abundant meal has slipped from my grasp, with the new ideas flowing into my head. He set up this feast to farewell my old habits. A last plentiful supper. And now, the thoughts of hungry nights swell up inside my racing mind. The idea of being waxed of stray hairs and holding an umbrella everywhere I go to avoid the soothing touch of the warm sun prickles my skin with sudden loss.
“And what if I refuse?” My question climbs out of my throat with caution.
Aurick continues eating. Shrugs. “Then you cannot stay or work in the city. I don’t need to remind you what happens if anyone strays from societal standards. Appearance is everything here. You either adjust, or you live freely on the outside.”
He’s right. I hate that I can’t fault him for insisting on this matter. But women who gain a pound outside of what they should weigh are taken into the west wing of the Emerald Lake Asylum as patients. Sometimes they’re kept there for months. Sometimes they never come back. Women are taken if their face grows unwanted blemishes. They’re taken if they draw unwanted attention.
Is fulfilling Scarlett’s wish of changing the dynamic of the asylum worth all of this? I’m already at risk of being taken. Not for my weight, as growing up malnourished and starving has created quite a delicate frame for my body. I’m at risk for the golden hue of my skin, my long, wavy, golden locks, and the absence of makeup on my face.
But I am the reason Scarlett can no longer complete this goal herself.
I take a swig of my first mouthful of wine, cringing at the bitter dryness.
“I’ll do whatever I am asked to do.”
8. Lady-doll
Aurick left me in thehands of the same older woman that had met me at the cottage before—she’s waiting for me in my bedroom now.Herash hair was perched in a high bun and her evening dress began just under her chin. She drew me a hot bath in a large brass tub in my washroom. The soft carpet welcomed my bare feet, but her eyes did not. She made no effort to soften the blow of preparing me for this sudden change in my life.
She had laid out my white nightgown, fox fur slippers, and several glass jars of oils and body butters. Without so much as a nod of consent on my end, she stripped me of my dress and helped me into the tub filled with hot water, roses, and dried lavender.
