She packed up her chest and clamped the bamboo lock shut.
After hiding the chest away again, she stood in the elevated window nook, squinting into the sunlight that beamed brilliantly into the room. She stretched her arms, her hips, rolling her neck to crack out air bubbles. She moved her body in a practiced, skillful manner, flowing between stretches and motions. Each of her breaths was slow and deliberate.
It was not long, however, until she grew incredibly bored of meditative stretching.
"I don't care if mental tutors say it calms the mind," she muttered to herself acidly as she dropped her pose. "It's so boring I'd rather do arithmetic."
In her room, several strangely placed ropes lined the walls and ceiling. For the next hour or so, she ran at the walls, climbing like a monkey. She scaled up to the ceiling at the speed of light, and swung across the walls from handhold to handhold, legs swinging about wildly.
She liked this much better; the sweat pouring down her forehead and neck, the burn in her shoulders and core made her forget how much she hated this place. She could imagine, as she swung about, that she was grasping the tips of mountains and vaulting herself between them through the clouds, instead of hopping around in a suffocating room, in a suffocating house enclosed by suffocating walls..
At last, when her muscles were shaking too much to reach for another section of rope, she dropped to the floor and lay there, gasping and grinning with satisfaction.
It was some time later — Abrial never had a good sense of time — that a gentle fist tapped on the door. A soft voice followed:
"Abrial? Are you awake?"
Abrial yawned, still plastered to the ground. "No."
"I see. Happy birthday, Abrial."
Abrial sat up in a flash. Or rather, she tried to sit up, but her back muscles shrieked and sent her swearing and sprawling back onto the ground.
"I forgot about it was my birthday. Shit. Now my day is ruined."
There was a pause from the other side of the door. "May I enter?"
"Yeah, come in."
The door opened soundlessly, and a slender, delicate-looking young woman entered, carrying a tray. Her hair was a pleasant honey color and plaited neatly into two braids. Upon seeing Abrial limp on the ground, her hazel eyes widened and her lips pursed. .
"...You've been climbing again. And have you injured yourself?"
Abrial grinned crookedly as the girl strode to her side and placed the tray down.
"Not really. It's no big deal. I just exercised a bit. Can I have water?"
The young woman firmly propped Abrial up against the bed in a way she'd done hundreds of times. Then she handed Abrial a bamboo cup of water and swiftly and took Abrial's other hand, turning it over to examine the palm. Abrial recoiled, pulling her hand away. She lifted the cup to her lips and swallowed the water in one big gulp. It was cool, soothing her raw throat.
Right away, the young woman seized Abrial's hand again, holding it more firmly this time so that she couldn't pull away.
"Abrial. If you were not injured, why is there blood on your palms?" The young woman frowned sternly, removing the cup from Abrial's other hand and examined that palm as well. There was leftover dried blood there, too. She stood abruptly. "I am going to fetch healing herbs. Do not go anywhere."
Abrial made a sour expression, crossing her arms.
"Where am I gonna go? I'm stuck in this house either way."
She could almost hear Finley's stern frown in return.
A moment later, Finley strode briskly back into the room with a small mortar and pestle and a bottle of dark herb in hand. She locked the door behind herself, listened at it a moment for footsteps, then swept back to Abrial's side. As she uncorked the bottle to pour out herbs on the stone, Abrial grabbed her wrist.
"Don't pour too much. I've already healed my palms with safflower today. You said you have to limit how many times you use it a day, right?"
Finley's eyes sharpened, searching Abrial's face. "...You have already healed yourself with safflower. So, you slid down into the gardens before climbing."
Abrial shrugged, then winced. "So? I needed fresh air."
Finley tapped the bottle once on the stone, spilling out a carefully miniscule amount. She began to crush it with a pestle from a pocket in her pale robes. "Did you experience another attack of panic last night?"
"...No. Of course not. I just wasn't feeling well. Everyone needs fresh air sometimes."
Finley remained silent, but her eyebrows twitched into a momentary frown, and her hazel eyes darkened. As she smearing crushed herb onto Abrial's palms, Abrial's skin tingled. "Have you considered trying less dangerous activities when you feel unwell? Perhaps that would result in less injury, and preserve both your physical and mental health."
Abrial stuck out her tongue sourly. "What's the fun in that? Should I meditate more, and lie down outside, smell flowers and drink a lot of tea? Pah! I like it better this way."
"Your favorite activities are quite detrimental to your health."
"Eh. Who cares? Staying in the same house for sixteen years hasn't been helpful to my health either, but my mother and father keep telling me it's best for me. I'll just do what I want, since health seems like a lie."
"It is seventeen years now, Lady Abrial. Today is your birthday."
"Oh — right. Blech. I forgot about that."
Finley lifted Abrial's wrists so that her palms soaked in sunlight. The remains of herb shriveled away into wisps of smoke, leaving her palms clear and clean, any sign of rope wounds wiped away.
"Thanks, Finley."
Finley nodded slightly in acknowledgement, packing up the healing materials. "I have prepared the robes for your morning bath in the garden spring."
Abrial cursed beneath her breath. "I'd better take a bath now, or my mother will smell the sweat, won't she? I reek."
"Yes, that would be best. And I…think you smell pleasant."