Page 52 of Wolf of Ashes
Her clothing is exactly my size. Even the underwear fits, although the bras are slightly too small and push my breasts upward. But it’s nothing too uncomfortable.
By the time I’ve gathered a pair of black jeans, a black shirt, and clean underwear, the keeper has pinned blankets over the windows and it’s dark enough that I can comfortably remove my blindfold.
I fold it up carefully and leave it, the sash, and my mother’s shirt safely in one of the few spare spaces I find in a drawer. I won’t be able to wear this old material out in public. Better that I find something else with which to shield my eyes.
I make a quiet promise that I’ll only retrieve the material from the shelf once I’ve avenged my mother.
An hour later, I’ve showered for the first time. It’s an unpleasant experience that initially involves scalding myself, leaping clear of the hot spray, slipping on the wet floor, and landing on my backside.
Diavolo calls through the door to ask if I’m okay. “Lots of supernaturals die in showers.” There’s a dark chuckle in his voice. “Maybe I should come in there and help you.”
What a tempting thought.
After declining his offer and finally figuring out how to turn the faucet to make the water run warm instead of hot, I manage to scrub myself clean. It’s a small mercy that I already know how to use the cake of soap.
Drying myself is the best part of the whole experience.
Damn, these towels are like…Well, I don’t have a comparison yet. Mom used to say things like ‘smooth as silk’ and ‘fluffy as clouds,’ but for now, these towels are my ‘soft as’ comparison.
“Soft as towels.” I sigh happily as I rummage through the tubes and canisters sitting on the sink, under the sink, and in the little cupboard on the wall.
I find a bottle labeleddeodorant, but it has a strange, rolling-ball thing on the top of it that makes no sense to me. Besides, Mom said deodorant was some sort of spray…
I spy a canister, also labeleddeodorant, which I accidentally spray in my face before I get it anywhere near my armpits.
Dark saints, I’m hairy.
I grimace at my underarms and legs.
Wild-haired, indeed.
Continuing my rummage, I come across a razor. NowthisI know how to work, because Mom once tried to convince our jailor to get her a razor ‘for her legs,’ which she showed me how to use—right before she also tried to use the blade on our jailor. It earned her a burn across her cheek and that was the end of smooth legs.
I’m also happy to recognize a hairbrush, toothbrush, and hair ties, all of which I put to good use.
Finally, I stand once more in front of the mirror, dressed in a dead witch’s clothing, my armpits and legs smoother than they’ve been since I hit puberty, and my hair resting in a single, long braid across my left shoulder.
I look like a real person.
Except for my eyes. And my claws, which I choose to extend at that moment. And my teeth that I can sharpen at will—
Wait, what the fuck?
I lean forward, staring at my sharpening teeth, startled to see my canines for the first time.
Before my eyes, my canines turn as black as my claws and appear just as sharp.
I’ve run my tongue over them countless times and never been the wiser as to their color.
Dark saints.Mom didn’t have teeth like these.
I remember the way she’d gleam at me and tell me I could rip someone’s throat out with my teeth. I didn’t realize how true that could be.
The surprised crease in my forehead smooths out as I come to terms with this new aspect of myself.
Well, maybe this is what you get when you combine a dark angel with a hellhound. A whole bunch of dark fuckery.
Of course… there’s one other aspect of myself that I don’t examine right now because it was always fucking useless to me, so I leave it be.
