Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
When she closes the door behind her, I take a deep breath—the room has the rich, chocolaty smell of a candy shop—and decide to at least clean up. I slip out of my shift and panties and do my best to wash off the blood stains in the sink—which is milk chocolate with white chocolate taps. After wringing my shift out, I hang it over a dark chocolate towel bar and step naked into the chocolate tub.
The water is clear and warm, but the smell makes me feel like I’m taking a bath in a pot of hot chocolate. It’s not unpleasant—just a little strange. I take my time and wash my body and hair with chocolate-smelling soap and shampoo. I even use a chocolate comb—which must be magically hardened—to comb out the tangles in my long golden-brown hair.
But the whole time I’m getting clean, my stomach is growling. I try to ignore it as I finally drain the tub and reach for the towel. My naked body is covered in scratches and furrows from the thorns, and my left nipple especially is tender where a thorn pierced it.
I hate having to put back on my still-damp shift, but I have nothing else to wear and I can’t walk out into my host’s house wearing nothing but a towel.
I shiver as the clammy fabric molds to my skin. It’s unfortunately rather see-through and I feel extremely self conscious about the way my nipples poke at the damp material.
I’ve just decided that I’ll take the shift off again and let it dry some more when I hear a knocking at the bathroom door.
“Hello?” Dee-dee’s sweet voice calls. “Are you all right in there, Irena?”
“Oh, er, fine—just fine. Thank you,” I say, pulling my shift back down again. I go to the door and open it partway, making certain to hide most of my body and just put my face through the crack. “Sorry, it’s just, my clothes are still wet,” I tell her.
“Oh, of course. Here, let me get you something.”
She hurries away and comes back a moment later, holding a simple green gown which I know at once will look good with my eyes. Still, I’m hesitant to accept gifts.
“You’re so generous but I don’t know—I don’t want to take any of your gowns,” I hedge, trying to refuse politely.
“Nonsense! It’s a gift—I’m giving it to you freely. I have plenty more like it,” she assures me.
Her words about how it’s a gift she’s giving freely, reassure me somewhat.
“Well…thank you.” I take the gown from her and duck back into the bathroom. I slip out of my clammy, damp shift and hang it over the towel rack. I leave my panties on so I’m not completely bare beneath the new gown and then pull it over my head.
It fits me like a glove and just as I thought, a glance in the chocolate-framed mirror lets me know that the gown looks quite fetching on me. It hugs my curves in all the right places and even has support built in for my heavy breasts. Unfortunately, you can still see where the thorn vines wounded me, but the scratches look less shocking now that all the blood is washed away. They just need time to heal—I hope it won’t take too long because they are painful—especially my wounded left nipple.
When I come out of the bathroom, Dee-dee claps her hands in obvious delight.
“Oh, look at you, Irena! You’re lovely in that gown—just like a princess!”
I start to tell her I really am a princess…and stop. That didn’t do me any good back at The Slaughtered Lamb and I have no way to prove it. Better to just be plain “Irena” here and accept her hospitality graciously.
“You’re very kind,” I tell her, really meaning it. “How can I ever repay you?”
“The gown is a gift—no repayment necessary,” she assures me. “Now come have a little something to eat—you look like you’re starving.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—” I begin, but she has me by the hand and she’s already leading me back to the dining room. There, on the chocolate table, a feast is laid.
I see the gorgeous plump ham and the block of cheese but also a huge, crusty loaf of fresh baked bread. Beside it sits a pot of golden honey and a small plate that has a square of fresh butter on it. There’s also a jar of fresh wild berry preserves and a pie that smells of cinnamon and apples.
All of it looks so good I can’t stop my mouth from watering, but I know I shouldn’t eat any of it. It simply isn’t safe. If I was a character in a fairytale I was reading, I’d be warning myself to get out now! Because nothing that looks this tempting can possibly be without a price.