Chapter 1: Pushing Memories
The steam swirled, gently, curling around my torso in dull, ashy tendrils, the fine mist setting in the loose locks of my hair and on the silver, antique mirror like centuries and ages of dust, the fine mist swallowing my speckled reflection. A small bead of water trekked down my forehead and slipped off my face like a forgotten tear, left unaided to its fate. Shuddering I gazed at my ghostly reflection, and I reached, gradually pressing my fingertips lightly to the grainy, aged wood, then jerked back as if I ad been shocked, as memories flooded my mind. I keeled over, gasping and clutching my sides, as my pain echoed through my head, driving me towards insanity. Then it stopped, as suddenly as it came, and all I could think, see, hear, or be was the reverberation of the throbbing ache in my chest. I slowly elevated upwards, in a crouch, shuddering as I gradually made it to a normal pose. When I had composed myself, I tread carefully, smoothly, and softly, floating atop the creaky hardwood, smoothed from years of wear, listening for any sound or the slightest give from the floorboards. No noise hung about the air, but the silence I had become accustomed to. Ever since the fresh career my mother had taken, she now toiled long nights and late afternoons, so she was continuously sleeping, or else laboring at her front desk at the bureau. I sighed delicately, making my way toward the tall armoire, standing tall, proudly hoarding and displaying a sea of lace, frills, and corsets. I shook myself mentally, thinking about how long it must have taken to design such an effective instrument of torture. Grunting quietly as I tightened and laced up the back of my bodice. I heard a chuckle in the opposite corner of my room and spun around to face the perpetrator.