Scorched

21

Mira has shaved off enough hair from her legs with the iron scalpel. The job is tiresome and infuriating —she just wished that the hair would stop growing just for a week, so that she could have some peace and just smother herself in the bath without seeing hair particles floating around.

In her oversized tattered shirt which was also her nightgown, she stands before the remnants of a mirror she accidentally broke in the little single bathroom in their hovel.

Mira tilts her head to the side and combs out the wet stubborn knots in her wavy hair. The worst part of doing one's hair was this. The combing. The endless combing and grinding of teeth at the sharp tugs it assembled from her scalp; the pain was boundlessly excruciating.

After combing her hair and putting it into a bun atop her head, and freshening her mouth and face, she removes her night shirt and puts on her clean clothes for the day — which consists of brown breeches and a green sleeveless V-line shirt that gets laced together like a ribbon being plaited in the front. She loved how it showed off her plump breasts.

She winces at the puddle she created and uses her drying towel to wipe it up. Grasel would start complaining if she just left it to air dry. Again. But Mira found no reason to not do it if no was going to enter for a few hours, in which the puddle would be dry to only water marks remaining behind. Just to keep Grasel happy she rather wipes it up.

Their bathtub was small and had so many stains in it she refused to even place her body against that part in the bath, even though the stains couldn't come off with even a hard scrub; which made her paranoia at getting stained-bath-sickness even worse.

Across the bath in the very small bathroom was the privy with the small sink and mirror right next to it. Even with her alone in the room it led to so much claustrophobia she couldn't stay in here long before forgetting how to breathe. That's just how cramped the room was.

Grabbing her towel and night shirt she makes her way to her small bedroom a few steps doors away from the privy. Her bed is already made and her window was wide open to allow the noise from the Beggar Area to waft in and take over her room as well as the scent of musty cigars and alcohol. Old and sour. Which meant her clothes would be heavily scented with it as well.

She spreads it on her bed to get dry and airy and closes the curtain over the heavily guarded steel windows. The wind must have blown it asunder. It is a rule in this Area for Grasel and Mira to never leave anything outside because the next morning it'll be good as gone. So washing had to be hung inside.

She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and yawns with a big stretch. She wanted more than anything just to creep in her single bed and go back to sleep. Even her eyes refused to accept the light entering her room knowing it's time to rise and shine, when she woke up this morning. But it had to be done.

She goes inside to the sitting room and sees no sign of Grasel yet. She must already be working on the new joints today, it's been in demand for a while now, since these preparations started for the ceremony. Just when she thought Grasel didn't bother, Mira was stunned to see that she did. Their hovel was decorated with a few banners and flowers on the walls and tables. Not much but it still meant she was apart of the process— much to Mira's disappointment.

Mira pours herself tea and cuts herself a slice of leftover dry bread and sits herself down in the kitchen.

So the past few days flew by with nothing special happening at all. After her time with the Lord Mage person, she's seen and heard nothing else from him since then. She's waiting for the festival to arrive so she can find out what her actual purpose was to him. Because she has absolutely nothing to do with the Elemental, that included the death. Which is apparently happening after her ceremony as well but Mira didn't care.