[ Like almost everything else in the castle, the baths really are fit for a king - or a dragon. Even as a Saintess back in Fragaria, treated with the same revrence as any noble, she's never seen facilities as luxurious as this. The bath is huge and deep, set low into the floor and far down enough that if she cared to wade out into the water, she's certain she'd end up swimming. Wherever the water comes from, it comes out piping hot and smelling of herbs and flowers she can't name, filling the air with sweet, fragrant steam. She supposes it must be magic keeping it all functional - no need to chop wood to keep the water warmed and certainly no attendants running to and fro. It means she has privacy, which is nice.
But it also means it's quiet enough for her to think, which is decidedly less so.
What exactly is she doing here? Even with the hot water lapping at her, she's still all too aware of that pleasant soreness between her legs. Last night should have been an aberration, a terrible mistake she should be trying to scrub out of her skin even now. Instead, when she thinks about the promise in his sneer and the prospect of another night like the last, something deep in her gut twists and clenches with something that is, undeniably, anticipation.
It really makes no sense. Again, she searches her heart for any sense of shame or debasement but she finds none of it. Maybe he was right to call her dirty - ah, there's really no maybe about it, is there?
She sighs and sinks down in the water up to her chin, untied hair floating loosely around her. If she was a real Saintess, maybe this would be when God or anybody would give her some kind of sign or guidance. But of course, if she was a real Saintess, she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. ]
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But it also means it's quiet enough for her to think, which is decidedly less so.
What exactly is she doing here? Even with the hot water lapping at her, she's still all too aware of that pleasant soreness between her legs. Last night should have been an aberration, a terrible mistake she should be trying to scrub out of her skin even now. Instead, when she thinks about the promise in his sneer and the prospect of another night like the last, something deep in her gut twists and clenches with something that is, undeniably, anticipation.
It really makes no sense. Again, she searches her heart for any sense of shame or debasement but she finds none of it. Maybe he was right to call her dirty - ah, there's really no maybe about it, is there?
She sighs and sinks down in the water up to her chin, untied hair floating loosely around her. If she was a real Saintess, maybe this would be when God or anybody would give her some kind of sign or guidance. But of course, if she was a real Saintess, she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. ]