“No, no. I can manage,” she replied, leaning forward in her seat and giving a lazy wave. A large pot, full to the brim, sat abandoned in front of her; Eira had made a mere ten paces before ditching it and collapsing into the nearest chair. How could water, pure liquid, become so heavy – and with so little, too? It was too much for her frail frame to handle and she did not want to shift it. Her eyes formed into slits as she stared it down, trying to will it to move; the brass chamber pot remained in its place. It was as if it was mocking her.
It was times like these she wished she was gifted. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could move things with her mind, or any ability (she wasn’t picky). Eira didn’t see why not, considering she already carried and unusual appearance. She was fifteen years old, a third or so through her lifespan, and she had yet to see another human without colour. Even those with the fairest of hair and palest of skin couldn’t compare against her.
Eira knew, though, that she’d only use any unhuman skills to cut corners around the house. Whenever she joked about this to her father, his face would harden, the corners of his mouth twitching more than once. It always seemed as if something was troubling him and it rubbed her the wrong way, so in recent months she had learned to drop the subject.
Flaring her nostrils, she finally stood up, walking towards her foe. She readied herself, grasped the handle firmly with both hands and pulled up, however no amount of preparation was going to help her. She barely lifted the pot a few inches and she shuffled between feet; Eira wanted to just get to her destination and put it down again. Her arms were killing her! Ismo could only watch as his daughter scuffed past him and down the hall, leaving a watery trail behind.
Lifting it higher than her ankles was the worst. As soon as the water began to fill the tub, though, Eira felt the tension subside. She placed the pot down, beside the wooden crescent, and rolled her shoulders. The Dimas shouldn’t have had such a luxury in their small cottage, and Ismo paid a fortune for it, but at least they weren’t bathing in public. Eira had heard all sorts of stories from her father, from his days growing up in Lumisade. He had to stand in barrels, and there was a true possibility that the water would freeze on you.
The true horror story, though, was that everyone saw everything. The thought of being exposed like that truly frightened her. Only when she was alone... she pulled her arms out of her sleeves and slithered out of her dress, letting the light pink gown fall into a pile on the floor. She lifted her leg, cautiously dipped her toe in before jumping in all at once. The water was cold and exactly how she liked it.
Sucking in her cheeks, Eira pinched her nose and went under. If you asked her, she’d say that Spring baths were the best. In Winter, she had to use warm water, despite not wanting to. The townsfolk in Night Haven thought her odd enough (rich, coming from a misfit settlement), and she didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. Then in Summer, she didn’t have a choice, as the sun’s rays always stood in her way. In the warmer months, she often felt like she was melting and no amount of rainfall could change that. Spring wasn’t her favourite season, sure, but it was the best for bathing. No wonder the Great Wash is then.
Maybe if she could freeze the water, she could keep it like this. But as everything began to harden around her, she realized something – maybe, she should be careful what she wished for.
