I'm standing there, my eyes fix on the door, and my mind isn't really following up with what just happened. The hell was that? I was trying to get some shut-eye in bed—I can't call it a sleep, that thing is too luxurious—and now here I am standing half naked and clutching my boobs. Definitely not how I planned to start my day.
I click my tongue and shift my gaze back to the clear water in the wooden bathtub. Ingrid prepared me a clean bath? Totally...Absolutely out of her character.
My eyes dart back and forth between the clean bathtub and the beautiful outfit. This is just too strange. Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or am I actually hallucinating?
Whatever the reason is, I will take it. The dirt strain on my body ain't gonna clean itself. I quickly strip down, pulling my ragged skirt out, and leap into the bathtub.
Gosh! I shriek as soon as my skin hits the water. Its coldness bites sharply into my flesh. I instinctively clasp my arms together and huddle my body close.
Honestly, what am I expecting? When was the last time I bathed in a warm, steaming tub? Nope. Never. Not while I'm here, at least not in these two months. Because.. of course, a lowly maid like me won't have access to those precious firewoods, and that means, Uh-uh no heated water.
Before my fingers and toes will go stiff and fall out of their joints, I untie the hair ribbon behind my head and let my long, dark hair loosen down, nearly reaching under my butt.
Using my fingertips, I carefully detangle the strands and comb through my hair, starting at the tip and working my way to the top of my head.
I glance around and see that there's no shampoo in this place; the only thing I find is a bar of soap near the tub. I pick it up and rub it on my skin and scalp, scrubbing the dirt and sweat away.
I'm doubting how I look. It seems like my appearance has turned into a mess, judging by how restless I am. The less than four hours of sleep, the grueling work, and the loss of weight have obviously turned me into a walking dead. This place is ruining my health, my energy, and my beauty.
I was once a hottie babe. My face is heart-shaped, smooth, and my skin is somewhere between rose beige and ivory, not that slim nose but one that is high and elegant, and it pairs nicely with my arched eyebrows and my full, prominent cupid's bow lips.
The look on me was exactly like that of an angry bitch, where people think I am mad, but it was actually my usual resting bitch face. Well, I've heard people say I'm hot, but the air around me is just too hard to get through. Maybe they just want to say I'm a bitch but taking a long detour. Who knows, right?
What is more concerning right now is my fatigued complexion. The once glow and smooth skin is now rough and dry, it feels like I am touching the sand wherever I rub on my skin.
Not only is the blue vein visible under my skin, turning my whole body grayish pale, but the protruding ribs and collar bone are also worrisome. It's obvious to anyone from the first glimpse how I'm struggling and having a hard time living here.
I take a deep breath and dunk down, plunging my whole body under the water, and scoop up some soap to rinse my face.
When I'm all done and cleaned, I hop out of the bath and reach for the towel. Wiping off the droplet of water, I walk to the wall where the outfit's hanging. My body was shaking all over, and I can feel the bump on my arm and legs. I know I need to get dressed quickly or else I will get a nasty.. really nasty cold after this.
I reach out, touching the outfit. The skirt fabric is soft and silky, like the one worn by the wealthy maidens, and the moss-green corset has a few pieces of jewelry on it—not that much of a decoration but just right to make it stand out.
I grab the outfit and put it on, fastening up the long skirt and lacing the corset as tight as I can. Not that it is comfy, but just to make sure that my breasts wouldn't slip out of the wide-collared chemise that I'm wearing underneath.
Once I am well dressed, I push the door open and make my way up the wooden stairs.
The inn is now brighter with the light streaming through the wooden windows. I glance around, from the rustic atmosphere to the wooden log wall, and shift my gaze to the hanging curved-horn torches. I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth and the smell of smoke and candles as I make my way to the common room.
I find Ingrid's plump figure leaning against the counter, her curly hair shifting slightly as she raises her head upon hearing my footsteps. I look at her, and the gaze she is casting at me is off. I can't read what she's thinking.
What exactly is she up to? I can smell something fishy here. Everything she did in this one early morning was completely out of the ordinary.
.
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