I wake to Mary's soft humming tune. From the clouded view of my curtain bed I see her open a few windows to let the rising sun through.

“Good morning Princess.” Mary sang. She pulls the curtain back to place her hand on my forehead. “ I came in last night to check on you. It seems you're still burning a bit hot” her face dropped a bit after that statement.

I tried to lift my body up more, but invisible cinder blocks were weighing me down. I did not sense the heat, the aching, the pain I did.  

I'm underestimating this fever. My joints and limbs feel like they're being struck by a metal belt until tender.

“Mary I.. want to take a cold bath. Can you give me a bath please?” I mumbled rolling on to my side. 

I hope that didn't sound too demanding? I can take care of the rest on my own.  My body is just screaming for a cold relief. More so I just want to relax in some cool water.

weight pressing deep into my bones. My body felt sluggish, my limbs heavy as if the fever from before had crawled back to claim me.

“Of course, princess,” Mary said softly, bustling about the room. “I’ll run a lukewarm bath for you. More broth, as well as fruit, will be up shortly.”

I lay back against the pillows, listening to the soft rhythm of her steps and the faint rush of water echoing from the bath chamber. The scent of herbs drifted in the air — clean, earthy, and strangely comforting.

Moments later, she returned, wiping her hands on her apron, the water still running behind her. “Do you need my help to—”

I lifted my hand weakly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “No… no, I can manage. Please,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Mary chuckled under her breath, unoffended by my stubbornness.

I paused, tilting my head toward her. “Can I eat while I’m bathing?” My voice came out hoarse and cracked, barely above a whisper.

She shrugged, her smile growing fond. “I’ll make sure they bring your meal in. Gabriel also made that stabilizer in an herbal tea — I’ll bring some of that as well while you bathe.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, sinking deeper into the bed for a moment before gathering enough strength to move. 

I can use the wall as support. I don’t want to be carried like a baby this morning.

My eyes kept creeping over to Mary, who stood only a few feet away, ready to swoop in at any moment should I stumble. Right now, she lingered at a cautious three-foot distance — close enough to help, far enough to let me cling to my pride.

I pressed one hand against the cool wall, using it as both my guide and my support as I shuffled toward the bathroom. Each step felt heavier than the last, my legs trembling beneath the fever’s weight. My breath came shallow, small puffs of effort that made my chest ache.

When I reached the door, I tried to push it open, but the movement drained what little strength I had left. Mary moved immediately, slipping past to open it for me without a word.

“Thank you… again,” I managed between shallow pants, my hand pressed against my belly as if holding the ache inside could calm it. My body felt tired — not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the deep, draining kind that made even standing feel like defying gravity itself. 

I shut the door softly behind me and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The room was warm, steam curling through the air like lazy spirits. The scent of herbs—sweet and earthy—hung heavy, carried by the sound of gently running water.

I tugged at the ties of my nightgown, letting it slip off my shoulders and down my body. The cool air kissed my fevered skin, and for a moment I hesitated, the weakness in my limbs reminding me how fragile I really felt. I stepped carefully into the tub, the lukewarm water embracing me like silk.

A sigh escaped my lips as my body sank deeper, the tension melting from my muscles one slow inch at a time. The herbs stung my senses, calming yet sharp—like they were scolding me for overexerting myself again.

My mind drifted as the warmth seeped through me. Why did you leave, Mom? I thought, staring at the ripples dancing across the surface. You loved him—Dad still loves you. How could you just disappear?

Did she plan to come back? Or did she already know she never would?

The thought of my father finding out—alone, betrayed, unaware that she was carrying his child—cut deep. He must’ve felt abandoned, maybe even cursed. Yet somehow, he still spoke of her with warmth, never bitterness.

What was her plan? I wondered, tracing the water’s edge with my fingertips. Was I part of it? Or just another secret she couldn’t bring herself to face?

The questions circled in my mind like the rising steam—soft, endless, and impossible to hold

The warmth began to settle deep into my bones, almost heavy—like the bath wanted to pull me under, to make me stay there forever. My fingers trailed through the cloudy water, circling the surface as thoughts rippled through my head just the same.

Has Dad forgiven Mom for her selfish plans?

The question clung to me. I could see his eyes from last night—steady, full of love—but when her name came up, there was always that silence, that careful pause before he spoke again. Maybe that was his way of protecting himself. Maybe he had forgiven her, but only enough to keep breathing.

Is that why he didn’t jump into the conversation? I wondered. Because forgiveness is easier than the truth?

A small, bitter laugh left me, swallowed instantly by the steam. Am I wrong for feeling like this whole situation is unfair? Because it is. I didn’t ask for this life—this body, this past, this inheritance of secrets. Yet here I am, trying to live it the best I can.

I leaned back, the sound of the water shifting around me. My reflection rippled faintly in the bath, the lines of my face bending and reforming, two sets of eyes overlapping—mine and hers.

Is there a bigger picture I’m not being told of?

The question came like a whisper from somewhere deeper than my own thoughts.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the faint trace of lavender and crushed mint. I trust them… both of them, I thought quietly. This new father, this long-past mother—whatever strange fate ties us together, I want to believe it means something.

But as I opened my eyes, watching the surface of the water still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing in the center of a story far bigger than anyone wanted to tell me

A knock came before the door cracked open and Mary slipped in, balancing a covered tray in her hands.
“I brought your meal, princess,” she announced gently.

I watched as she moved gracefully across the room, setting a floatable tray into the bath with practiced ease. Steam curled around her arms like ribbons as she arranged everything neatly — small bowls of broth, slices of fruit glistening with syrup, and the faintly glowing cup of Gabriel’s stabilizer tea.

She poured the tea with a delicate hand, the scent of herbs and mint rising in the air before she placed the tray to float right in front of me. “Careful, it’s still warm,” she said softly.

Then, without being asked, she stepped to the far side of the bath and began tidying the already tidy space, her steps quiet against the stone floor.
“Would you like me to splash more water to steam up the room, princess?” she asked, lifting a wooden ladle.

My gaze trailed past her to the corner — a small pit lined with flat, reddish stones glowing faintly beneath the mist. I tilted my head, curiosity pricking through my fatigue.
“What are those?” I asked, forgetting her question entirely.

Mary smiled, glancing down at them. “Hot rocks,” she replied simply, her voice filled with calm warmth.

She scooped water from a small pail and poured it gently over the stones. Instantly, a hiss filled the air, followed by a rush of fragrant steam that rolled over the room like a living thing. The herbs from the bath and the heat mixed together, cloaking me in a soothing, misty embrace.

I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply — mint, lavender, and a faint trace of spice. My body sank a little deeper into the water, my exhaustion slowly being pulled away by the heat and scent.  I lifted the cup of herbal tea, breathing in the faint floral scent mixed with earthy bitterness. The steam curled around my face, softening the ache in my temples. I took a careful sip, letting the warmth slide down my throat and settle in my chest like a small, steady flame.

For the first time that morning, I allowed my stiff body to loosen, my head resting against the smooth edge of the tub. The herbal water lapped gently against my skin, its heat hugging me like a quiet comfort.

“Mary,” I started softly, my voice fragile but thoughtful, “if you were suddenly thrown into a world you know nothing about… in a new life that you have to piece together—would you find it strange? … would you find it hard to accept?”

Mary, who had been re-steaming the room with fresh water, paused. The ladle hovered in midair, droplets slipping down its sides and breaking the still silence of the bath. She turned, expression gentle but curious. “That’s quite the question, princess,” she said after a moment, setting the basin down. “I suppose it would depend on how much of the old world I remember… and whether the new one was kinder or crueller.”

I traced a finger along the rim of my teacup, watching ripples form in the water. “And if it was both?” I murmured. “Kind and cruel all at once?”

Mary tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then I’d call it life,” she answered with a soft laugh, her voice carrying the ease of someone who had seen her share of both sides. “No world is just one thing, princess. It’s the people we meet and the choices we make that shape whether it feels like home.”

I took another slow sip, eyes lowering to the shimmering water as I let Mary’s words sink in. “Home…” I repeated quietly, as if testing the word on my tongue, unsure whether it fit.  

I let the silence linger after Mary’s words faded into the gentle hiss of steam. I reached for a small bowl of fruit floating beside me, spearing a slice of something bright and crisp—sweet like honey, with a strange coolness that melted on my tongue. Each bite seemed to steady her heartbeat a little more.

Mary is right, she thought, resting her head against the rim of the tub. Life is life. It comes with ups, downs, cruelty, and kindness.