Electra's POV
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, the edge of the counter cool against my palms as I leaned into it with a sigh.
Clean.
For the first time in what felt like a century, I was actually clean and scrubbed down to my bones. The grime from the bunker, the sweat from fever, and the ash from whatever plane of existence I'd been reborn in were finally gone.
I'd spent the better part of an hour soaking in the tub, letting the water pull the weight from my skin. It hadn't worked completely since my muscles still ached like I'd been beaten with a hammer, and every time I shifted, something cracked or popped, but at least I didn't smell like a damp tomb anymore.
My hair, though, was another story. It was tangled, dry, and being rebellious. I tried to smooth it down with my fingers, but I ended up wincing every time I hit a knot.
"Gods, I look like I fought a demon and lost," I muttered.
