Baba Yaga marvelled at how a shower could be so relaxing. True, Bunny's luxurious, sprawling mansion might be considered somewhat inconvenient if an emergency evacuation was called for (as compared to her chicken house); and the stately building itself couldn't even manage a little baby karate kick, but the old hag wouldn't mind having a couple of showers like these a few times in a blue moon.
There were fifteen different water jets to choose from, a speaker emitting soft classical music, and thousands of tiny bottles of scented soaps and shampoos and conditioners and lotion; as well as several other beauty products Baba Yaga could not name, but all smelled wonderful. (She had gotten all excited when she first saw them and squeezed out the foamy creams and gels, tossing the caps on the ground, and smushed them all into her hair at once and there were so many bubbles she got more excited and opened all the bottles and squeezed all the contents into her hair before she realised that the label saying 'Lavender and Mint Foot Wash' meant whatever was in that tube was probably intended for her feet. But no one need ever know.)

She had been in there for about an hour or so (a large portion of that time spent sheepishly gathering the bottle caps scattered on the floor, telling herself it was her first bath in fifty years and the first civilised one in her life, and something like this was to be expected) before deciding she had better get ready for the feast, and the ball that would eventually follow. She was quite excited about meeting the hairdryer. Even more excited about the room service.

Shaking herself dry like a dog after a swim, she pulled at the door. Nothing happened. She pulled harder, then pushed, groaning with frustration. That Bunny! She rattled the door. How could she have fallen for such a simple trick? How could she have believed that no ill-feeling boded between the two of them after she had deprived Bunny of her eyes? The witch had enchanted the door to lock itself after she entered!
"Help!" she screamed, still shaking the door handle violently, before she remembered. All the bathrooms in Bunny's mansion had soundproof spells cast on them, because of several guests' tendencies to burst into soaring soprano and/or other most unsightly noises during the most inconvenient times. Now, she was locked inside a small space with no weapons, no amulets or wands, and… and… and no clothes.

Bunny will be executed for this, she thought. Now, if only I had any sort of weapon that was not tiny and plastic and devoid of pleasantly scented creams…

Then, Baba Yaga had a brainwave. She could call the rest of the Three on the Link! Wait. Bunny was on the Link. Temptress.

For another ten minutes, Baba Yaga yanked on the door handle desperately, to no avail. With a resigned sigh, she decided to risk calling, even though Bunny would almost certainly hear the appeal before Daphne did.
In the best case scenario, she would be locked in a dungeon and tortured for a thousand years and her eyes would be scooped out with a molten hot spoon. In the worst, Bunny would take several photos of Baba Yaga in the shower and publish it on all her social media and send it to every magazine and newspaper in the United States, then lock her in a dungeon and torture her for a thousand years and pluck her eyes out.

Either way, her prospects looked very, very grim.

She sent out the appeal for help.


Daphne was reluctant to answer the call on the Link. To do her justice, the messages sent through on that supposedly emergency system were usually livid reminders that she had missed 'yet another meeting' of 'paramount importance' and that she was 'an obtuse, slow witted, undependable, bone-headed half-wit of a nincompoop'.

Also, she was waiting for the guards to get distracted by something so she could get over to the chocolate fountain that, for some reason, everyone kept telling her wasn't ready yet.


After a few agonizing few moments that seemed like hours, the bathroom door was unlocked. Not picked, not forced, not opened with a spell. Unlocked with a master key. Baba Yaga's misery and dreadful uncertainty had come to an end.

Of course, she had always known her death would be a violent one. People like her simply didn't die of old age.
But it had never occurred to her that she might die cornered, of all the respectable places there were in the Almighty's green earth, in a shower stall, shivering and dishevelled and wet, like a rat. Least of all that she would be naked when her time came.

It was indecent, to say the least.

The door opened smoothly, but cautiously. An image suddenly entered her mind—the Faerie Herald, a picture of her in the shower stall on the front page, and a detailed article about how the oldest and most respectable witch in town had fell for such a simple trick it wasn't even considered a trick.
She quickly squatted down and, with some difficulty, hugged her knees to her chest. The photo would not be obtained without a fight.

Bunny leapt in with a war-cry, swiftly getting into a combat pose. Daphne was at her heels. Daphne? She was in this too?

"What is it? Where's the emergency?" Bunny demanded. Her dog, Lupa, sniffed suspiciously, looking for an intruder.

Nothing out of the ordinary, she told Bunny on their Link. She then noticed Baba Yaga, and whined.

Bunny granted her permission to leave after she made sure nothing was out of the ordinary.

Daphne glanced around the room with wide eyes, and gasped when she caught sight of the naked hag behind a thin veil of misty glass. Heaving, she ran out of the room. "Just a moment!"

Trembling, Baba Yaga glared at Bunny. "You witch! Traitor!" she screamed. "Traitor! Let me out!"

Bunny 'looked' at her warily, and slowly straightened to her usual, perfect posture. "What?"

Baba Yaga made a noise at the back of her throat she had picked up from some of the feral animals that lived near her home. "Let. Me. Out. Now. And get me a towel."

Bunny had never run into this kind of situation before, and didn't know what to do. She was still suspicious and extremely uncomfortable. Suppose the real Baba Yaga had been calling for help when she was abducted and replaced by someone in disguise?

"What is Hamster's favourite colour?" she challenged. No one but the real Baba Yaga, and Daphne, would know of their nickname for the Deputy Sheriff.

Baba Yaga was very surprised. Then she scowled and rammed her shoulder against the door, seeing as Bunny did not appear to have a phone. "Let me out, you buffoon!" she screamed.

"Tell me Hamster's favourite colour!" Bunny repeated forcefully. She fished a small vial of forgetful dust out of her handbag. "Or I'll wipe your memory!"

Baba Yaga slumped and snarled. "Beige."

"And Fish Face?"

"Orange."

Still cautiously, Bunny took a towel from the heated rack and, cautiously, grasped the door handle…

…and slid the door open.


Wasn't expecting that, huh? Or were you?

I know it's my second shower scene but I just couldn't resist. Everyone out there has a wrinkled hag in the shower fetish, right? ;)