Page 51 of Wolf of Ashes
A mirror?
I peer at the shiny surface and the silhouette within it that’s visible in the dark. My hands slowly lower as I stare back at the woman who stands before me.
I thought I would be happy to see myself for the first time. I thought, or rather hoped, that looking at myself would be like looking at the mother I’d lost. That I’d see parts of her in the shape of my face, my physique, but instead, it feels like I’m staring at a complete stranger.
“That’s… me?”
I barely know myself.
I’ve seen my arms and legs and torso before, simply by looking down at them, but never in connection with my shoulders, neck, head, and face. Never as a whole person standing tall in front of me.
A ragged bra and underpants cling to a slender, muscular frame. My legs are longer than I thought they were, proportionate to my torso. My bust is curvier and my waist narrower, cinched in even more tightly by the sash I took from the Cathedral. My mother’s shirt has remained safely tucked under my bra strap, the shirt’s material so threadbare that it fits neatly there.
Slowly retracting my claws, I approach the mirror so I’m standing only two paces away from it.
I reach up to touch my face, tracing the shape of my jaw and lips, then my earlobes up to the bottom edge of the blindfold.
Finally, I run my hands down the mess of hair that falls past my waist, the gray strands framing my face, the rest of my hair black to my shoulders before it turns blonde.
Trusting that it’s dark enough in this room, I reach up to untie the blindfold, needing to see my full face, if only once.
The panthers have quietly gathered around me now and Diavolo remains at the side of the room, his expression shuttered.
I’m sure I’ll only get a glance before the light filtering in from the bedroom gets the better of me, so I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and then close them again.
In that single look, I see the golden eyes my mother spoke of.
Unnatural. Predatory. The look of a fierce, dark thing.
My father’s eyes. Along with my black blood, proof that I’m his daughter.
Holding my head high, my eyes now firmly closed, I re-tie the blindfold before opening them again.
Then I fold up my feelings, even though I know full well that the keeper will have experienced my turmoil at meeting myself for the first time.
My lips are dry, but I manage to speak, sounding wooden. “You should check if there’s any food we can eat. I’ll look through the clothing for what might fit me. Then I’ll decide what illusion you should place around my appearance. As soon as night falls, I want to head out to one of the empire’s strongholds and let it be known we’re looking for work.”
The keeper gives me a nod before he ushers the panthers out of the room. “Take your time. I’ll see what I can do about the windows and sunlight.”
I rally a little before he reaches the end of the dressing room. “You could have at least brought me to a dead vampire’s lair.”
He sticks out his tongue in a gagging gesture. “Too many blood stains on their clothing.” But he quickly smirks at the overly-stuffed shelves. “This witch liked to shop.”
He saunters away but pauses again. “By the way, there’s a bathroom around the corner. You might like to take a shower.”
The suggestion of a shower startles me a little. I’ve only ever cleaned myself with a makeshift sponge and water in a bucket.
I’m affronted. “I don’t stink.”
Diavolo makes a scoffing sound as he disappears into the bedroom.
Or do I?
Meh. Who can tell?
Mom spoke of this stuff called deodorant and maybe the witch has some somewhere, but it’s not my first priority.
Quickly opening drawers and rifling through the clothing options, I discover that the keeper was eerily precise in choosing this particular witch.
