Spin Me Sweet Tales

Chapter Twelve

In the dead of night, the silvery moonlight wishes me good morning. My body is still unaccustomed to slumbering during daylight and wakening when the stars are in the sky, but as I blink away the fatigue, change awaits me. My limited time in Oraxto has been a routine, with the same company each morning, but Deeba stands beside a woman who is not Khaivya.

The emerald woman next to Deeba is not as short as Deeba, but not as tall as Khaivya. The woman is a few inches shy of my height. She wears her hair in an intricate braid across her left shoulder, and her gown is modest. The sleeves are baggy and long, covering her hands completely. The only part of her skin that shows is her round, adolescent face. It is peppered with acne, from her forehead, her round nose, and her plump cheeks. Her eyes remain downcast, never glancing up at where I sit in bed.

I look at Deeba, who stares at me with red rimming her enormous eyes, and I ask. "What's wrong?" It is clear she has been crying, but she ignores me; a beat of silence enters the air before I prompt. "Are you alright?"

Sadness is quickly replaced with fury, and she snaps. "Get up, your highness. We need to prepare you for breakfast."

I listen to Deeba, sliding out of the bed. But as I move towards Deeba and the younger witch, I ask. "Where's Khaivya? Is it her day off?"

Deeba flinches like she's been slapped, but she doesn't reply. Unease prickles my skin, but I continue my routine. I sit on my makeup chair, and Deeba applies my makeup while the other woman brushes my hair. For several terse minutes, the room stews with Deeba's unbridled acrimony. Then I look in the mirror's reflection and momentarily forget about the witch's hatred.

My hair has always been a deep brown shade, but today it is lighter. The room is barely lit by candlelight and the moon's gaze, so it typically appears darker. Almost black in the nighttime. Yet, I reach for a piece of my hair untouched by the emerald woman's hairbrush, and it's the lightest shade of brown. My hair is more tan than brown, a shade darker than dirty blonde, and I look at Deeba with confusion furrowing my brow.

"Did somebody dye my hair overnight?"

Per usual, Deeba does not answer. Yet, unlike usual, Khaivya is not here to fill the tense silence. The other emerald woman, who looks no older than sixteen or seventeen years old, does not answer my question either. Even as she brushes my hair and removes each knot, she does not look at me from the mirror's reflection. She treats me like I am Medusa, and a single glance into my eyes will turn her to stone.

It is lonelier on the days when Khaivya is off work.

The tulle dress they place me in is simpler than any gown from the previous days. The garment is in a light purple shade and travels down to my ankles, but there is a sheer silver coating on top covered in an array of stars. I am the purity of the night in this gown, which is complimented with a star-spangled tiara. It pushes back my tanned hair and almost makes the lighter shade less noticeable.

Almost.

"Will you willingly walk to breakfast?" Deeba asks, her voice clipped and her eyes refusing to look at me.

"I will walk."

The bedroom door opens, and another change stands in front of the doorway as a pink-skin woman and a half-man, half-spider. They both wear a black collar rimmed gold around their neck, and if the bulky choker did not mark them as slaves, then the branded S taking up half their left forearm is telling. Disgust churns my stomach as I stare at two people, so different in appearance and species but brought together because of one terrible misfortune.