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The way she scrubs at my hair and skin, I worry that I'll be covered in bruises by the time she's through, if not rubbed entirely bald and raw. There's not a single thing gentle about the way she touches me, though I'd be a fool to expect otherwise.
"Stand," Merelda orders, rising from her chair, once she's satisfied that my hair and back are thoroughly cleansed.
Shivering as I get to my feet, the cold water drips from the long lengths of my hair and down my curves. Merelda frowns at my naked form, and I try my best to calm my shaking body, but it's impossible.
Re-wetting the cloth, she continues to wash the rest of me, paying extra attention to my breasts even as I grimace in pain at the roughness of the cloth. Finally, she steps back, seemingly satisfied that she's scrubbed away every speck of dirt from my skin.
"Now, sit," she says, this time pointing at the chair, "while I figure out what to do with that unruly hair of yours."
Muttering about the wretched darkness of the thick waves that cascade down my back, Merelda reaches for the silver comb.
"It's truly a shame that you look so much like your mother," Merelda tells me as she yanks the comb through my hair, tugging hard enough on a tangle to bring tears to my eyes. "All the bad with none of the good, that is."
Biting my tongue, I force myself to remain silent. If I were to say what I'm thinking, it would only cause me more pain at her hand.
It sickens me to see how cooperative I've become, but then I realize what's made me this way.
Fear.
Fear has taught me to be obedient, and I shudder in shame at the thought. Father would hate to see how docile I've become, if only in an effort to keep the peace.
He'd always taught me to be bold, and yet, Merelda had found a way to break me.
"How is my father?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
My stepmother’s hands falter for a moment before she steps away to set down the comb. She doesn't answer my question, instead busying herself with my hair again.
Her fingers are rough against my scalp as she twists and braids half my hair up, leaving some free to flow down over my back and shoulders.
"Get up," Merelda orders, and I do my best to ignore the chill that's working its way into my bones as she crosses the room to unlock the small chest.
Returning to me, she shoves a simple chemise and dress into my hands, and I stare down at them. The dress is a deep brown color that will only make my skin look all the paler, but perhaps that's the entire point.
Pulling the chemise over my head and then the dress, I note the deepness of the neckline as Merelda moves to lace up the back of the dress. I gasp as she pulls the laces tight, forcing my body to conform to the shape of the dress with each tug.
Turning me around, I catch a glimpse of myself in a small looking glass hanging by the door. The dress hugs my body, giving me curves that I didn't realize I had, the swell of my breasts nearly spilling entirely from the wide, open neckline. My heartbeat quickens as I realize how little of my form has been left to the imagination.
One wrong move, and I'll be put entirely on display.
"Stand tall, girl," Merelda snaps. "I won't have anyone thinking I put up with a gremlin in this house."
I straighten my shoulders as best I can, forcing my eyes away from my reflection as Merelda circles me again. Her frown deepens for a moment before she steps forward and pinches my cheeks, hard.
My yelp of surprise seems to satisfy her as she brushes her hands over her skirts.
"That'll have to do," she says with a disappointed sigh. "If only you were prettier, bigger bosomed, even ... but this will have to do. Let's just hope his sight isn't what it used to be."
Glancing around the room, she suddenly grows flustered as she mutters a curse under her breath.
"Come, quickly now," she barks, grabbing me by the wrist as she hurries us from her private room and up the stairs. "Wait here, don't you dare move a muscle, do you hear me?"
"Yes."
She eyes me for a long moment, before slipping into my father's room. It's too dark to see anything inside before she closes the door behind her, a strange aroma wafting out around me.
I frown, unable to place the scent, though there's something familiar about it that prickles the back of my mind. Before I have a chance to think of it, Merelda returns, a golden bottle in hand.
Without warning, she spritzes me with the heavy rose perfume she prefers. I wrinkle my nose, fighting to keep a sneeze from escaping as all hope of remembering that strange scent disappears.
