Aurora had just called Caligo a beast. I was glad I wasn't the only one seeing the monster in him.
The honesty in her voice struck a chord within me. Everyone here so far had spoken in riddles and threats and blood-stained flattery. But she? She offered none of that. Just the truth.
I stared at her warily. "You work for him."
Her lips twitched in what was neither a smirk nor a smile. Something weary and complicated in between.
"I serve him," she said. "Not the same thing."
I shook my head. "If you're here to teach me how to please him…"
"Please, if that were the case, I would've brought silk and perfume. I didn't." She cut in, waving me off dismissively.
She reached into the folds of her apron and pulled out a clean cloth, a flask of water, and a small, battered tin box. Without asking, she crouched beside me slowly as if she were tending to a wounded soldier instead of a girl choking on the memory of an unwanted kiss…
… and how endearing, how powerful it felt and tasted.
"Let me see your hands," she said.
I didn't move.
She met my gaze. "You've been digging your nails into your skin. I can smell blood."
I glanced down. She was right. But the blood wasn't too significant. How on earth had she smelled that?
She held out her hand, not grabbing mine, but just holding her palm open like an invitation—and after a long, stubborn pause, I gave her my hand.
Her fingers were warm and almost motherly. She cleaned the crescent wounds without fuss or unnecessary pity.
"I know what he is," she began, dabbing gently. "I've seen him hurt people. I've seen him tear men apart without blinking. But I've also seen him… strangely, inexplicably—protect things he thinks belong to him."
I scoffed. "Like a dog with a bone."
Aurora didn't laugh, but her mouth twitched again.
"Exactly. You are his now, Rose. And you can fight that, or use it. But make no mistake—nothing here is free, and nothing here is ever just what it seems." She pointed out, and I got the heebie-jeebies.
I stared down at her, suspicious. "Why are you helping me?"
Her expression changed slightly. The warmth didn't vanish, but something sad surfaced underneath it.
She sighed. "Because once, I was like you. Young. Terrified. Angry. I thought I could escape with fists and fire. I learned the hard way that this house eats girls like us if we don't learn to play its games."
I swallowed hard.
Aurora set the tin down and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she stood in a straight posture, and her chin lifted just a little.
"Come. You need food. A bath. Something clean to wear. That dress might've been stitched for a girl on sale, but you're not livestock. Not to me."
I paused. The bath sounded tempting. Warm water. A clean slate. A moment to breathe.
But then I remembered Caligo's hands on me. His voice. That look in his eyes was like I was a candle and he was ready to burn.
"I'm not going to let him win," I declared, pressing my lips together.
Aurora nodded slowly in approval.
"Good," she said. "Then listen. Watch. Learn. You don't have to love him. You don't even have to forgive whatever part of yourself didn't hate his touch. You just have to survive him."
She paused.
"And I'll help you do that."
Caligo must have sent her here, thinking she'd help read out his rules and make me fold. Wasn't it laughable how she was doing the exact opposite?
Joke's on him. He wasn't as great as he thought he was.
However, I didn't trust Aurora yet. But she didn't ask for my trust. She simply offered her hand again.
I gawked at it. It was clean, older, and steady. Nothing in this place was safe, but maybe not everything was a threat either.
And for the first time since I arrived in this place, I took it. Not because I believed I was safe. But because I knew I wouldn't last a week on my own.
Let the beast think I was broken. Let them all think it. I would eat their lies, drink their poison, and survive long enough to burn them from the inside out.
Starting now.
.
The bathwater was warm, scented with herbs and a milk-colored salve Aurora stirred in herself. It smelled of lavender and lemon rind.
Every surface of the room gleamed like it had been bathed in oil. The tub was massive and sunken into the floor like it could drown a grown man—and maybe had.
"This is his bath?" I asked, awe in my tone.
Aurora didn't answer. She simply walked ahead like she belonged there, like she'd memorized every stone and shadow. Her skirts swept across the marble with the hush of authority.
She bent to test the water with her hand. "Perfect. Strip."
I stared at her.
"I—what?"
"You're not going to sulk in his sheets covered in soot and convent ash." She turned to me, hands on her hips. "You stink of fear, sweat, and virginity. All of which he'll sniff out the moment he walks through that door."
My cheeks burned.
"I can bathe myself…"
"I'm sure. But I didn't ask."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Something about Aurora's tone wasn't open for debate. And strangely, I didn't feel unsafe. She moved like she had nothing to prove and nothing to take. Like she'd seen it all already and found it unimpressive.
With shivering fingers, I pulled off the thin shift I wore. The room was so hot that the sweat clung to my back like glue, and the fabric came off damp and heavy. I stepped toward the tub and sank in.
The heat gripped me. I gasped, but it was from relief. Every sore, wound, and every ghost embedded in my muscles began to loosen. It was like being eaten alive by warmth and suddenly deciding I didn't mind.
Aurora knelt behind me, sleeves already rolled to her elbows.
"I don't need…"
"Shhh."
She dipped a cloth into the water and began scrubbing my back. Her hands were skillful, like she knew exactly how to care for a body that had been neglected and didn't want to be touched.
"Close your eyes," she ordered, wringing a cloth between her hands before bringing it to my face.
I obeyed. I don't know why.
Maybe because I hadn't had a mother in years. Maybe because even when I did, she never bathed me like this… never sat beside me humming a tune while steam rose in gentle curls and I tried not to think of Caligo's hands, of how my skin remembered more than I wanted it to.
The cloth dabbed over my temples, my cheekbones, the raw patch beneath my lip where I'd chewed the skin off in silence. Aurora never once recoiled. Not from the bruises or the dried blood or the messy little sob I accidentally let slip when she tilted my chin just right.
"You carry tension in your spine," she murmured.
I nearly laughed. "It's been… tense."
"No doubt. You've been torn from one prison and dropped into another."
Her words clanged in my chest and I just remained silent for the rest of the while.
"You're quieter than I expected," she said suddenly.
"Wasn't aware you'd formed expectations."
She chuckled. "Smart mouth. You'll need it."
She poured water slowly down my hair, careful to avoid my eyes. As it soaked through, I realized just how heavy my head felt. I was tired. Deep-down-in-the-marrow tired. Like I'd been carrying something too large for too long.
She massaged something sweet-smelling into my scalp. I tried to guess the scent—almond oil? Coconut? Whatever.
"I can guess what you're thinking," Aurora mused, rinsing again. "You're wondering how long this is going to last. This comfort. This calm."
My eyes opened slowly. The room was fogged with steam. The marble tiles shimmered. Everything felt like a dream I would wake from too soon.
"You'll learn to stop asking that. You'll start taking what peace you get. That's how we survive men like Caligo."
The name alone pulled the air from my lungs.
I tensed. And Aurora noticed. She didn't comment on it. She just reached for the loofah next and started on my arms.
"He's not the first man I've served," she said lightly. "But he's the most dangerous."
My eyes flicked to her face. It was calm. Way too calm for the words she was spitting. I couldn't help but feel like there was something between them.
A sort of history, or a secret… something no one knew of and something she loathed him for. Once again, here I was, thrown in the middle of it all.