The comment and the playful little smirk catch hard at her imagination. Thoughts flit around her head like nervous moths, such as how much bigger? and what else might be in such a room and even how much space does one person need?? She's still uncharacteristically silent though, finds that - sometime after Lenore has departed - she's still standing there, in the middle of the room ('her' room), wondering what the fuck to do with herself. She feels a bit as though she's been left alone in a sacred space that could be despoiled by her grubby touch, and in the end it's her lingering fear of this that leads her to the bathroom.
It takes her a little while longer to work up the courage to try the taps for the tub, and she spends some time experimenting with the temperature. She's quietly amazed by the water that just springs out of them, one already heated just as Lenore had said it would be. Through all of this she can't help feeling somehow dirty and awkward and stupid. A barely socialised savage let loose in a place she's simply unfit for. Eventually though, she strips off the clothes she's been wearing for some days now, only remembering the collar at the last and removing that too. The clothes she casts upon the floor, rumpled and muskily scented, but the collar she places carefully beside the basin. Wearing it may have made her feel weird - like some wild animal Lenore was attempting to tame - but like everything else in this new space it seems too fine a thing to just chuck onto the floor.
It's with some trepidation that she soaks herself in the tub; having only ever scrubbed herself clean with cold water and washcloth it feels kind of alien to her, and she can't quite rid herself of the concern that sitting chin-deep in water will make her sick. It feels fucking good though, and she stays right where she is until the water turns cold and streaked with the dirt from her skin. By the time she's out and the water is draining away to some mysterious location, she feels almost relaxed. There's a huge cloth that she dries herself down with, hoping she hasn't fucked up by utilising it in this way, and she folds it neatly and returns it to the exact position where she'd found it, just in case.
Padding back into 'her' room - naked, with her dark skin practically glowing with new depths of cleanliness - she stares at the bed. Huge and sumptuous enough to border on the obscene, she seriously considers dragging the heavy blanket onto the floor and following Lenore's suggestion. She could make some nest in the corner of the room, trying not to touch anything. In the end though, she caves, curiosity getting the better of her. Gingerly climbs beneath the blankets and just lies there, staring at the ceiling.
"Fuuuuuuck me," it's said on a breathy exhale, finding the bedding so soft and cushiony it's like being wrapped up in a god-damned cloud. How the fuck is she meant to sleep on this? The sheer luxury and comfort of it is way too distracting. Maybe she ought to go rifling through the room to fill up the hours, discover what else it contains. Maybe she should get up and walk right out the door and creep through the sleeping castle, just vanish off into the night never to be seen again. Nothing's stopping her. She has the key to the door! She's no longer caged-- but. She wonders - vaguely, with a touch of embarrassing hopefulness that she tries hard not to acknowledge - whether Lenore would be shot through with loss to wake and find her gone.
The hot water from the bath had been more soporific than she'd given it credit for, however. As such, it's like this - indulgently imagining Lenore's bereft little face, how she'd sigh and stare at Gideon's empty room with a touch of delicate melancholia - that she drifts off into sleep. Quite without meaning to.
no subject
It takes her a little while longer to work up the courage to try the taps for the tub, and she spends some time experimenting with the temperature. She's quietly amazed by the water that just springs out of them, one already heated just as Lenore had said it would be. Through all of this she can't help feeling somehow dirty and awkward and stupid. A barely socialised savage let loose in a place she's simply unfit for. Eventually though, she strips off the clothes she's been wearing for some days now, only remembering the collar at the last and removing that too. The clothes she casts upon the floor, rumpled and muskily scented, but the collar she places carefully beside the basin. Wearing it may have made her feel weird - like some wild animal Lenore was attempting to tame - but like everything else in this new space it seems too fine a thing to just chuck onto the floor.
It's with some trepidation that she soaks herself in the tub; having only ever scrubbed herself clean with cold water and washcloth it feels kind of alien to her, and she can't quite rid herself of the concern that sitting chin-deep in water will make her sick. It feels fucking good though, and she stays right where she is until the water turns cold and streaked with the dirt from her skin. By the time she's out and the water is draining away to some mysterious location, she feels almost relaxed. There's a huge cloth that she dries herself down with, hoping she hasn't fucked up by utilising it in this way, and she folds it neatly and returns it to the exact position where she'd found it, just in case.
Padding back into 'her' room - naked, with her dark skin practically glowing with new depths of cleanliness - she stares at the bed. Huge and sumptuous enough to border on the obscene, she seriously considers dragging the heavy blanket onto the floor and following Lenore's suggestion. She could make some nest in the corner of the room, trying not to touch anything. In the end though, she caves, curiosity getting the better of her. Gingerly climbs beneath the blankets and just lies there, staring at the ceiling.
"Fuuuuuuck me," it's said on a breathy exhale, finding the bedding so soft and cushiony it's like being wrapped up in a god-damned cloud. How the fuck is she meant to sleep on this? The sheer luxury and comfort of it is way too distracting. Maybe she ought to go rifling through the room to fill up the hours, discover what else it contains. Maybe she should get up and walk right out the door and creep through the sleeping castle, just vanish off into the night never to be seen again. Nothing's stopping her. She has the key to the door! She's no longer caged-- but. She wonders - vaguely, with a touch of embarrassing hopefulness that she tries hard not to acknowledge - whether Lenore would be shot through with loss to wake and find her gone.
The hot water from the bath had been more soporific than she'd given it credit for, however. As such, it's like this - indulgently imagining Lenore's bereft little face, how she'd sigh and stare at Gideon's empty room with a touch of delicate melancholia - that she drifts off into sleep. Quite without meaning to.