All your life, did you know /
you'd be picked like a rose.ᐣ
(Name) is full of contradictions. She is dreamy, yet decisive. Eccentric, yet charming. Ambitious, yet secretive. Confident, yet conflicted. Gentle, yet strong-willed. However, maybe the mo...
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‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♡ ༻ ‿̩͙‿
(Name) doesn't stick around long to converse with her companions after the end of the phase, as after ascending the blimp, the first thing she does is walk away to find a bathroom to wash away the dirt and grime of last week's endeavors.
She swiftly enters a bathroom when she finds it, observing its pristine white walls and the golden accents of the ceiling. A toilet's situated on the other side of the bathroom with a big sink to its left, and a large mirror looming above it. A cute little basket with a stack of toilet rolls is beside the toilet. However, there is no shower or bathtub visible.
She sighs, then immediately walks to the sink to adjust the temperature to the warm setting. After rummaging through her bag, she finds the bar of soap that Calla-Lilly had stashed somewhere inside. It has been sealed in a thin, wooden-like box, untouched until now. Upon opening it, a gentle flowery fragrance wafts from the bar, leading her to surmise that her sister has personally crafted it.
A little pink sticky note is adhered to the box.
Remember to shower, shrimp.
- Calla.
Ensuring the door is securely locked, she casually discards her clothing and personal items onto the tiled, polished floor. Her two pocket watches find their place on the countertop, and she leaves her flower hat perched atop one of the cabinets containing hygiene-related objects. Her broom, too, is left propped up on the wall.
Assisted by the tepid stream of water and the fragrant cleansing bar, she rids herself of the accumulated filth on her skin. Small remnants of dried blood, perspiration, and grime lift into the frothy lather of the soap, transforming its surface into an unsightly combination of pink and brown hues as they disappear inside the drainpipe.
After ensuring a thorough rinse (she diligently repeats the process to guarantee that she's finally clean), she proceeds to meticulously scrub her scalp with the soap bar under the high faucet, groaning at the pain in her neck every once in a while. She breathes deeply when dizziness wallops around her skull, grounding her feet.
Her hair has become somewhat tangled due to an entire week without brushing, necessitating several minutes for the feeble flow of tap water to penetrate her roots and wash away the soap. The bar leaves a smell of rosemary etched on her hair, and the fragrance of the familiar plant doesn't fail to make her smile.
When she makes sure that no soap remains, she dries herself off with her towel as best as she can. She puts on her undergarments with deft fingers, wishing she could wash them as well. Although there existed spells to make quick work of it, her mother had always said that she should accustom herself to doing things manually unless there was no other choice but to use magic.
