SAVE POINT 13

Rosabella

'Take it.'

Sparo had said I was supposed to 'take it':

The attention.

The respect.

The...reward for what I'd done to save The Game. The problem was that, even with all his prodding, I was having a hard time of it. I'd dismissed the maids—I know. I was supposed to let them guide and help me, but after all the formalized ‘certainly’s, ‘let me get that for you’s and ‘if I may’s, I was about to gag on my own spit. They'd been the same age as me; they could have at least talked like it.

I'd requested a bathing suit—that was the one thing I'd asked for. Because this was supposed to be a bathhouse but... Well, it looked more like a pool, and the water was crystal clear. If someone walked in on me bathing, I'd turn cherry and sink to the bottom, tile floor like a lead weight. So, I'd asked for a bikini—something the maids had been all too glad to fetch (in fact, they—on a whole—were way too glad to do anything for me). And they'd come back like good, exuberant golden retrievers with the black, string bikini, a tower full of fresh towels, a hairbrush and a bar of lavender soap.

That's when I'd told them to go. Like hell was I going to strip down in front of strangers!

But, now, they were gone—and I kind of regretted my decision. Because evidence of their absence was deafening in this silent room. And I was left, again, with my tangles of thoughts as the only visitor.

Take it, I reminded myself. This place was safe—I was safe to enjoy this. What was wrong with me that I was having such a hard time of it???!

I sighed, and the noise echoed back at me. If I screamed, would it do the same?

If I sobbed? …God, I wanted to just let loose and cry. My body hurt so badly, and my thoughts wouldn't give me any rest.

Goran.

All I'd been seeing was his face and the image of Joy's Darken scar creeping up the back of my neck. But Goran was dead. I’d seen the dragon eat him. And there was no rash on my body. I tugged my shirt off, running my fingers haltingly over the bare skin of my neck and shoulders to make sure.

The skin there was smooth.

I sighed again.

And it echoed back at me.

...Again.

The bathhouse wasn't a 'bath' or a 'house' at all. It was connected from the same hall as the bedroom I'd been sleeping in and looked more like a hotel pool...or how a pool would look in a stone temple. A video game! Yes, that was what it reminded me of! This had the original Tomb Raider written all over it!

Stone arches spanned overhead in tan uniformity, and steam curled up from varying-sized pools, reflecting the golden glow of sconce lights and the sunlight coming in from small windows off its cerulean waves. The concrete rims of the tubs were porous and strangely warm under my feet. I wiggled my toes there before deciding to wiggle out of the rest of my pajamas.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

I undressed and redressed in the bikini like I was being watched. I still hadn't completely dismissed the paranoia as I took my first steps towards the smallest pool in the back corner. It had jets like a hot tub, and I'd do just about anything to sit, my body jarring up and down and my teeth all but clacking together to the rhythm of a rumbling spout on my back, if it'd corral these thoughts for just a few, precious minutes.

So, I slipped my feet into the water, hovering on the shallow, first step.

The water was lusciously warm over my toes, sending delighted goosebumps up my legs. It wasn’t a hard decision to take two more, quick steps downward. The warm water rose like a liquid blanket to my middle.

But it wasn’t enough.

I needed more.

I needed to be all the way in the heat—in the comfort. Smothered. Completely. So that I could forget that I’d ever have to come out.

'Take it.'

And I finally could. I, finally, let myself as I sunk down, and the scalding, comforting water lapped over my bare shoulders. Oh my God.

I let my breath out—or, maybe, it was just finally able to come out of its own accord. I'd released it. Just like I'd, suddenly, released anything and everything I'd been holding onto in this moment. Oh God, why was I holding on to all that shit in the first place? Because there was just bliss right now—just unadulterated, pure bliss.

And I could finally sit in it.

Just me.

Allowing myself to feel this. This might be the best day of my life.

If you'd have told me, just a short while ago, that I'd be living in an alternate, video-game world, I would have spit out my Cheerios. If you told me I'd be washing my hair in a glorified hot tub and having a nearly orgasmic reaction to this kind of lavishness, I'd have told you to follow that phrase where you walk off a short pier...

And now?

Now, I didn't care. Now, I fucking didn't care! About reality. About where I was supposed to be or who I was supposed to be and it was—

It was freeing.

I tilted my chin up, burrowing my body deeper in the lapping waves and balancing on the edge of the rock seat shimmering below the water in wavy lines. And a laugh bubbled out of me.

A thin.

Tittering.

Unexpected.

Laugh. Of joy.

There were soap dispensers built into the floor, nearby the lip of each pool, if you could believe it—modern, gold, pump faucets. I pushed down on the one with a plaque reading 'shampoo' with way too much relish as the gel-like hair product slithered into an 's' shape on my palm.

And I lathered my hair. I took my time, digging my nails into my scalp and smelling the fragrant perfume of some type of flower scent waft into my nose. I used the lavender soap too. I ran the bar up and down my arms, coating them milky white, like each pass cleared some atrocity of the past.

Some pain.

Some stabbing wound.

Some death.

And I sank into the water, watching the suds spiral out from my body like the lather of the ocean. I smiled—trying to remember the last time I’d smiled. I didn't want to be king, but it was good to be king.

There were baths and bedrooms.

There were herbs keeping me alive and no zombies or hostile dragons—no armies of death. In fact, in the shelter of this place, all those things seemed like nothing more than a fable—a story you'd tell children.

I wrapped myself in the most gloriously soft towel, and I brushed my hair out, long, down my back. And I'd almost forgotten about the bodyguard and the maids and the pomp and circumstance until the door in front of me slid open and the two maids poked their headbanded heads through.

"Feeling better, miss?" one asked, her eyes incredibly genuine.

And I nodded, actually smiling back, "Yes, thank you."

"Good," the second one interrupted, "Because we were sent to dress you for the Welcome Back event."

That made my heart stumble a little. "The Welcome Back what?"

"It's to celebrate the return of a Game Maker!" the maid on the right gushed, "There's appetizers and conversation. You'll be wearing this! Isn't it lovely?!"

She held up a rigid-looking, black-and-white gown, all tulle.

"Oh, and you'll make a welcome speech, of course—can't forget that!" The other added.

That's when my stomach plummeted. Someone had forgotten that. Someone had fucking forgotten to tell me about that—

I bent over, clutching at my stomach, spitting—

Black blood all over the white portion of the dress. ...And, if I was being totally honest, I thought I could only blame half of it on the darkness sickness...

[-7 HP, 63/89]