Zane
Inside the tent, the candle flames swayed slowly as embers carried from the fire played with brief, teasing drafts of air. When I stepped in, the air changed. This time it did not smell of blood, but of something soft, clean, and strangely calming. Lavender. The sensation hit me in the stomach, as if I had opened the door to an old, dusty room and the scent of freshly washed fabric had filled the space, pushing sharp memories aside for a moment.
She was sitting on the wooden bench, holding the towel close to herself so that it covered exactly as much as it should. In her movements there was everything I had seen during the day. Uncertainty. Fear. And yet something else she was slowly learning. The small but stubborn beginning of owning her own body.
I stopped at the entrance for a
