I nod as I watch them move. The younger one has coppery hair; she reminds me of Angela’s curls. A feeling of closeness forms in my chest. She takes out a long white dress, as sheer as the one I’m wearing. The older one approaches me with hesitant steps and gestures to begin undressing me.
“It’s okay, ma’am, I can do it myself.”
“Oh, miss, don’t call me ma’am.” She tries to undo the knot of the dress at my neck. “And don’t worry, this is our job.”
The garment falls and pools at my feet. I step aside, and then the younger one crouches to remove my shoes.
“May I know your names?”
“Our names aren’t important,” says the younger one.
“I insist. I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.” I hesitate a moment. “Besides, you’re human.”
“We are.” They nod. “I’m Naida and she’s Clarissa.”
“Elara
