She nodded her thanks, followed the direction he had indicated with careful movements, trying not to actually step on the floor. Her feet were probably the cleanest part of her, but even they were smeared with dungeon dirt. They left little outlines on the bathroom tile.
Croe shut the bathroom door as softly as possible, the click of the latch a mere whisper in the silence. She was presented with a luxury she hadn’t had since Earth – the choice between a bath or shower, both immaculately clean and stocked with expensive-looking soaps. It would have been heaven to soak, weightless, in that magnificent tub, but she stepped instead into the shower, and let the water run as hot as she could stand. Dirt and grime (and blood, she realized, though she couldn’t pinpoint whose) ran off her skin in vein-like rivulets. She scrubbed herself with something that smelled faintly of oranges and desert sand. She shampooed twice; her hair squeaked when she squeezed it. She couldn’t, for the life of her, remember ever having felt so clean.
The feeling might have made her bolder, but as she stepped out of the shower and caught sight of herself in the mirror, she paused. Towel in hand, her skin looked unusually pink from the heat and vigorous cleansing. For the first time in her life, she had breasts. Her distended belly gleamed like a sun. The rest of her looked fresh, but gaunt…hollowed. Her cheekbones cast alarming shadows down her face. Dark circles made her eyes look unnaturally large and bright.
Now is not the time, she reminded herself, and wrapped a towel into an approximation of a dress. She exited the bathroom with her arms crossed over her chest, to hold it up. It felt strange to cross her arms, with breasts in the way. That awkwardness only intensified her uncharacteristic modesty. In another room (the bedroom?) she heard a door slam.
Mallos emerged from the other room, carrying something. Croe did not immediately acknowledge him. She was preoccupied by the unexpected changes to the room – pillows that had been adjusted, a stack of papers that had conspicuously vanished, and most notably, a mess of tiny mechanisms on the desk. It reminded her so strongly of the day their daughter had been conceived, it made her throat constrict. But she swallowed, composed herself. When she reached out to accept the shirt, her eyes glittered with humor.
“God of Destruction” she said ominously, then smirked “and…feng shui?” It was easier to make jokes than face reality. She managed to shrug the shirt over her head without dropping the towel, shifting it down to her waist. I’m wearing his clothes, she noted with amazement. In another world, she might have looked cute; the t-shirt hung just low enough to cover everything of interest, stretching slightly over her stomach, and would have revealed only the crease of her bottom, had she dropped the towel. But in this world, Croe had never been cute. In this world, her eyes held too much darkness. “Will you lay with me? I don’t think I can sleep…”
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