Rose reluctantly led Willow through several long hallways and flights of stairs.

Willow had noticed that the decor was completely different from what she was used to back home and to a certain degree found it fascinating. Having never been permitted to leave the city, the different colours seemed glaring. In Tanut, everything was grey or exposed wood. Occasionally, things might be painted white, but the other colours Willow had only seen in Nil’s ruins. The halls here were in various shades of green, orange, brown and exposed wood. Willow felt a wave of crippling homesickness wash over her as she studied a brightly woven tapestry. They didn't have the colours for such things, let alone the spare thread for anything but clothing.

Stopping in front of the dark wood door, Rose gestured Willow in ahead, explaining that these were to be her quarters for the duration of her stay. Willow had snorted at this – as if she would be permitted to leave – but complied, walking in, and studying the space.

Inside Willow noted an older woman, bent over and lighting the fire, long green skirts held carefully away from the pit with a tight knot at the hip. The women straightened at their entrance and turned to meet Willow's gaze.

She was a portly older woman with kind eyes and a wide smile. Her hair was mostly grey, although a touch of the original brown remained. Willow was shocked by the attire. Rose wore a similar style of tightened bodice and Willow had seen the hundreds of tiny buttons running down the back to hold it in place. The outfit seemed both... immodest and opulent to Willow, so used to her loose tunic style dress and hose which required minimal effort to construct and get on each day. The buttons alone must have needed a maid to do up.

Rose bid her goodbye and the older woman introduced herself as Agnes. She explained in a crackly voice that she was the Head house-woman and she had prepared this room especially for her.

Agnes led her into a wide, sitting area, the walls a deep green, the furniture done in lacquered wood and shining in a way Willow had never seen before. All furniture was made of wood back home, but the lacquer was mostly to protect it from general wear and tear, not to look pretty. The settee was larger than she was used to and looked overstuffed, done over in a brown fabric that looked as equally expensive as the rest of the room and Willow had the momentary urge to fling herself onto it. Agnes spoke of the room, pointing out the fireplace and a small cupboard that held extra linens.

Meanwhile, Willow frowned as she looked around. Wasn't she a prisoner? Why was she getting a set of rooms, especially ones so... richly decorated? Or were these the rooms she was supposed to be cleaning? The fabrics, compared to what she was used to, were luxurious and Willow couldn’t even guess ay home much she would have had to trade for such a luxury.

“Through here is the bedroom and that door leads to a separate bathing room.” The furniture was made of the same lacquered wood as the sitting room and included a bed, two bedside tables, a dresser, and a vanity all skilfully carved with beautiful plants and flowers. The bathing room door was on the right and had a large tin tub painted white with clawed feet and a matching chamber pot. A fluffy towel hung over the edge and a tray of bathing supplies sat by the side; most of them Willow couldn’t even begin to identify.

It was a beautiful set of rooms and yet Willow felt intensely uncomfortable. The colours were all wrong and far too flamboyant and she still didn't even know exactly where she was and had no idea what was going to happen to her. This place was lavish, more lavish than Willow had ever seen. No one Willow had ever met had this kind of wealth; she’d never imagined this kind of wealth existed.

Where he was from, if you owned your home, you were rich. Willow's family were considered almost nobility by this standard and were afforded a certain respect because they owned a profitable farm. While certainly not the richest in the area, they had been considered one of the wealthier in town although the respect was earned more from appreciation due to the number of jobs Richard provided. Not all landowners thought of the lowest classes the way he did, and many refused to hire a worker if he came from the streets.

Even with that status, the things they owned were no better than anyone else's. Most of what they owned, Esther, Richard, Siobhan, or Willow had made themselves with produce produced on the farm. It was all out of necessity and perhaps an austere lifestyle, but it allowed them to survive as well as they had.

Willow sat down on the bed and abruptly burst into tears, quickly hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders shook and she felt her world shatter. Agnes looked at her shocked but quickly rushed over and attempted to comfort her. Willow didn't know what to say to her to explain the tears, although she presumed, she was in on whatever scheme Willow had been entangled in.

Willow attempted to calm herself quickly, not liking the vulnerable position she was in and gently shook Agnes comforting hands away from her person.

Unperturbed she had spoken, “Come on deary,” Agnes encouraged. “Why don't you dry your eyes and I'll get your bath ready. A nice bath after so long must be a relief, hmmm?”

Willow agreed easily. She felt sticky and grimy and was more than willing to accept the kindness if it was offered. It may lead to disappointment later, but at this point, Willow was exhausted, too tired to fight. She hadn't had a full bath since before the kidnapping. She'd had a few sponge baths in the medical wing, but she still felt filthy, and her hair hadn't been untied in weeks.

Agnes disappeared out the door, quietly closing it behind her. Willow moved to the mirror, studying her appearance. Her eyes and skin looked dull, and her hair appeared straight from a nightmare. It stuck out in strange ways in some places, caked flat to her scalp in others Sighing, she began to pull pins from the mess, sighing with relief after each was removed and the pressure against her skull was relieved. Even once free, her hair held itself in the style it had been held for the last season. With another sigh, Willow slowly and methodically began separating her hair into smaller, manageable chunks. It was delicate work; Willow was desperate to keep as much of her hair as intact as possible. As she brushed, dirt and hay trickled out, leaving a mess on the table and floor but Willow disregarded it, too intent on saving her hair.

Agnes returned with several young men carrying buckets of steaming water. The bath was quickly discarded, and the men dismissed. Agnes then turned to Willow and spent the next few hours helping brush out the last of the dreadlocks that had formed in her hair. Finally, it was free, filthy, and surrounded by dirt and other matter, but blessedly free. The immediate relief was almost palpable across Willow’s scalp. A pile of hair sat on the table and what remained on her head still bent at odd angles, held in one place for so long, had definitely done damage, but at least it was relatively knot and dreadlock free now. She chose to ignore the bald spot behind her right ear.

Agnes recalled the men with buckets before gently shuffling Willow into the Bathing room. Willow slowly undressed, hating that she needed Agnes' help to undress. Her fractured rib made breathing hard enough but with the removal of her corset, the pain grew worse, and she found herself unable to lift the arm on that side. Her slip was a disgusting mottled brown and yellow and she was honestly glad to be rid of the thing. Willow had not been given a new one and she was too modest to be without it so had continued to wear it, but she had some hope that she may be permitted to replace it now. Agnes had clucked at it, muttering about a lost cause.

Willow found the whole experience awkward. She had been dressing and bathing alone since she was six and the idea of a maid was basically unheard of in Tanut. She knew of a few women, from very old families originally from the city, that had a lady's maid, but she'd never cared for the idea, preferring to look after herself. Beyond this, in the circles Willow usually kept, having a maid to assist in such basic ways usually an indicator that the individual was unable in some way to dress themselves. She hurriedly submerged herself in water, ignoring the older woman's amused chortle.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Agnes pulled Willow's hair out and began to douse it in separate water, having to change it twice due to the grime it released, before rubbing a sweet-smelling liquid into it. The liquid lathered easily, and Willow had to hold back an almost obscene groan at the feeling of cleanliness. While Agnes worked, Willow turned her attention to her body, vigorously scrubbing her skin pink, pausing only to trim her nails and clear the dirt out from under them. As she scrubbed herself, her rib, wrists and ankle throbbed but she was determined to clean away all physical signs of the ordeal, scratching off scabs and scrubbing at blood and dirt stains.

As each layer of dirt fell away, Willow began to relax. Finally, underneath all the grime she began to see her own pale skin, chapped, worn, and scrapped, but clean and she couldn't help the relief that fell over her. Unreasonably, she had almost expected the dirt to never come off again. It had been so caked on...

Agnes rinsed her hair and gathered it into a towel, twisting it up on top of her head and pinning it there with a hat pin. As Willow rose, she was disgusted to note that the water had turned a sickly brown-grey and Agnes helped rinse her body with another bucket of water before helping her into a plush towel and ushering her out of the tub.

Willow dried herself a little before shimmying into a robe, performing an awkward shuffle as she struggled to keep herself covered while moving into something a little more modest. Agnes stifled another laugh that Willow studiously ignored.

The bath had felt amazing, but now she felt more acutely her injuries and she struggled to hobble back into the bedroom. She ignored Agnes' worried stares, desperately hoping she would not press for answers.

Agnes seemed to sense Willow's reluctance and instead chose to say, “We don't have any other clothes in your... specifications,” She explained. Willow supposed her violent breakdown over colours and shape had spread through the gossip trains. “We've properly laundering what you were wearing when you come though! They're hanging in front of the fire now to dry. I've had some tea and scones brought up for you, while we wait, if you'll just follow me.”

Willow hesitated, clutching her robe tighter around her, pulling the fabric as closed as it would go.

Agnes smiled. “No one will be permitted to enter these chambers without your expressed permission,” She reassured.

Willow relented reluctantly, not truly trusting the woman's word. She was still rightfully suspicious of this strange kindness and still expected her desires to be disregarded at some point, perhaps when the demands grew to be perceived as unreasonable.

Regardless, Willow followed Agnes out onto the settee – Willow had been right on first inspection, it felt like sitting on a cloud - and took a ginger seat. Her ribs protested viciously as she shifted into a comfortable but respectable slouch. Willow checked all the food suspiciously, using the lightest touches of her magic to brush against each item before she delicately nibbled on a scone, savouring the tea. She'd missed her favourite hot beverage in the weeks since her kidnapping and throat injury. Under usual circumstances, Willow might have considered drying her clothes with magic, uncomfortable with her state of undress. However, considering she was still healing and still highly suspicious of these people, she didn't want to take the risk. If she needed to use magic, she wanted to be able to use as much as possible to defend herself.

Agnes hovered between Willow and the door, much to Willow's gratitude. It made her feel safer. At one point, someone had knocked at her door and Willow had curled inward, pulling her towel as close as humanly possible while ignoring the agonising protests from her injuries. Agnes had answered quickly, holding the door strategically to hide Willow's form from view although this did little to quell the discomfort.

Listening in, she heard a whispered argument unfolding, “He wants a meeting now!? She's only freshly out of the bath and her clothes are still drying! You should have seen the filth! I shudder to think in what condition she has been kept these last three cycles! It took us so long to get her clean and proper that the poor dear is only just now sitting down to eat! She is a lady, Jonathon. She is used to a certain level of respect but also a certain sense of propriety. She comes from a family with high societal expectations. She is unused to the relaxed society we have cultivated here, outside of the city! You remember how strict The King is on the country's womenfolk! She's already terrified of us; we need to give her time to feel presentable and comfortable!”

Willow heard a man's voice rumbling quietly before Agnes said. “I will ask her and send word. I won't have you brutes scaring her more than she already has been. The way she acts and the dirt and marks I have seen; I shudder to think what she has been through. She has very little reason to trust her safety to us.”

“Within the hour please, dear. Edward is a busy man. And... She deserves to know what is going on. You know Rose thinks no one bothered to fill her in on what happened? The Betrayers said she refused originally and yet she's still here. She deserves an explanation. Edward won't speak about it, even to me and that makes me even more suspicious.”

“Fine!" Willow watched as Agnes threw her hands up, shooting a furtive look over her shoulder at her. "She'll be ready as soon as I can arrange it. I'll send word.”

Agnes shut the door with a snap and a frustrated sigh.

“I believe your father would have told you of Edward, our leader here?” Agnes opened, her eyes bugging out when Willow silently shook her head in the negative.

“Well then,” Agnes continued, obviously fighting for a calm, soothing tone. “The Leader has requested a meeting within the hour. He says he has vital information for you,” She explained. “If you are not ready, I can arrange a reschedule."

Willow shook her head. “I want to know what is going to happen to me. I want to meet the man that endorsed my kidnapping and torture.”

Agnes shifted uncomfortably. Willow suspected she knew more than she was saying. “After you finish your tea, we'll start getting you ready. I just hope your clothes will dry in time,” She worried.

Willow knew her clothes would not dry in time, so subtly sped it up with the barest touch of magic. If the King found her, so be it. Agnes didn't seem to notice. She'd be damned if a stranger saw her in this state of undress! It was bad enough Agnes had seen her!

Willow easily collected her clothes and moved to the bedroom. Unbundling her hair, Willow repeated the process on her hair. Agnes seemed surprised to see Willow's hair dry but didn't comment as she helped Willow into her corset, unwillingly. She heard her muttering about the thing, but Willow had insisted. She couldn't care less what this strange woman thought the thing unnecessary. It was part of being properly attired. Pulling her hair to one side and inspected the bald patch with a growing sense of dread. It was larger than she’d initially though, about the width of three fingers. The hair around the patch was also thinned. Gingerly, she fiddled with the lose strands, ghosting over the thing webbing of scars beneath with the very tips of her fingers.

Her hair had been something of a vain pride and now it was ruined. Ignoring Agne’s squawking, Willow bundled the remaining thinned hair into a tail and, reaching for a pair of scissors, and cut the lot as close to her scalp as she could. Willow studiously ignored the strands of hair on the floor as she reached for a men’s straight razor. Gently, she stripped away the last of hair, mindful of the raised scar tissue, from her temple to the far side of her ear until it was nought but prickly splinters.

“Why would you do that!?” Agnes’ bemoaned. “It was beautiful.”

Willow touched the naked skin, tracing the scaring. “It will never be as it was. Best to show what has been done.”

Willow gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. Her tunic was faded in places, crinkled in others and in disrepair over the shoulder, wrists and hips and her hoes looked threadbare at the knees but she was at least presentable. She'd have to try and find some thread and fabric to patch it up later.

Agnes nodded her approval as she offered a plain grey shoulder wrap which Willow took gratefully, before shuffling her back into the sitting room. Willow took her seat and poured herself another cup of tea to soothe her nerves. Agnes reappeared with a heavy blanket to place over her legs.

“Must keep you warm now, deary,” she stated. “Can't have you getting sick now.” Willow nodded her thanks absently, thoughts racing.

She hoped beyond anything that she would be informed of what was going to happen to her. Knowing she was going into slavery was better than being thrown into this ocean of unknowns, surrounded by people who refused to speak on the matter.

Ignoring her sore muscles and barely healed injuries, Willow pulled herself up straight, poised, charming and ready to please. She imagined herself back home, holding a tea meeting with Jay-Jays’ parents. She took a fortifying breath, ignoring the spasm of pain from her ribs, forced her shoulders to loosen and waited. Primly she sipped her tea, presenting herself for all to see as the picture of sophistication and grace.