Mae hadn't slept a single breath that night. Every time she closed her eyes, a new bang rattled the door. Drunkards, confused guests, maybe even worse—trying to get in. After the third attempt, she had dragged every piece of furniture in the room and stacked it against the door in a makeshift barricade. The old stool, the dusty table, even the creaky wardrobe had been pushed and jammed together until there was barely space left to walk.
Now, curled up in the corner of the room like a kicked dog, her eyes stayed fixed on the door—bloodshot, unblinking, as if daring it to move again.
She didn't know how long she'd kept that vigil, but her body had given up trying to rest. Her stomach twisted with waves of nausea and cramping pain, probably thanks to the questionable stew and stone-like bread from earlier. Her forehead was slick with cold sweat, and she groaned softly, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.
As if that weren't enough misery for one night, another grim realization had struck her like a slap to the face around midnight: there was no washroom.
No toilet.
Just a bucket system. One that looked like it hadn't been emptied in weeks.
And no toilet paper.
Not even cloth.
She had suffered, truly and deeply, in ways her 21st-century self had never imagined. Her dignity had been peeled off layer by layer since the moment she'd landed here.
"Is this God's idea of showing me how blessed I was? Because honestly—this is extreme." she thought bitterly.
"Couldn't I just get a fortune cookie or a gentle dream? No—it has to be hell in bucket-form. And why is it always me who ends up suffering? Why does it never stop?"
She closed her eyes. Not to sleep—just to stop existing for a second.
Then, faintly through the floorboards and distant yelling, came a softer sound. A voice calling through the corridor.
"Hot water for baths! Come now or wait 'til dusk!"
The sound revived her. Like a zombie awakening, she staggered up, stretching her aching limbs, and started to pull the furniture away from the door. It took effort—her arms trembled with every shove—but finally, the door creaked open.
There stood the same barmaid from yesterday. Pretty green eyes, soft jawline, and short curly hair tucked behind her ears. Her white apron was now grayed from soot and smoke, and her hands were red from carrying hot water.
"Miss. Your bathwater," she said gently.
Mae nodded and stepped aside to let her in.
In the dim light, she noticed it for the first time—an old tub, more like a barrel cut in half, hidden in the corner of the room. It had blended in perfectly with the warped wooden walls.
The maid peeled off the heavy lid and began pouring steaming buckets of water inside. The hot liquid mixed with the stagnant cold water already there, releasing curls of mist and a clean earthy scent. It took two full buckets before the temperature felt remotely inviting. Then, without a word, the girl placed a small gray cube on a ledge beside the tub.
"Soap?" Mae asked.
The maid nodded. "Boiled lavender ash. It'll work."
Just as she was about to leave, Mae stopped her.
"Hey… wait. What's your name?"
The girl hesitated, then looked up for the first time properly. Her voice was soft, like a flake of dust landing on glass. "Lora."
Mae offered a faint smile, a tired version of the one she used to give strangers back home.
"Okay, Lora… do you know anywhere I could get some clothes? Something normal. Something that doesn't trail on the floor like a damn curtain."
Lora's eyes flicked to Mae's torn, overly grand outfit and nodded.
"There's a shop down the street. They sell used clothes. You can find something… plainer."
Mae stepped forward, sudden desperation in her voice. "Could you go get it for me? I'll pay you. Not just for the clothes—for bringing them too."
Lora paused, the cautious reluctance of a servant tugging at her features.
"I'll make it worth your while," Mae insisted. "You won't be doing it for free."
A small flicker of light passed through Lora's expression—curiosity, maybe hope. Then she nodded.
"I also need a pair of shoes. Something like…" Mae pointed at Lora's feet to show the worn-out, half-split pump. "Something better than that."
"Second-hand," Lora clarified. "But I'll try to find a pair."
"How much?"
Lora looked unsure, counting on her fingers. "Three lumens for the clothes. Maybe another three for the shoes if I bargain." And how much would you charge for the delivery of goods?" She asked.
Lora was reluctant at first but the spoke. " three starlings?." she was unsure.
"Okay!" Mae nodded immediately.
Mae pulled out the small satchel she'd been guarding with her life and handed over the agreed amount. It hurt a little, seeing the coins leave her hand, but comfort—real comfort—was worth it.
"Be back in an hour?" Mae asked.
"If I can," Lora said and turned to leave.
Mae stood by the door for a long moment after she left. The first person she could maybe trust in this world had just walked out. And all she could do now… was wait.
Mae had ripped the remnants of her old dress from her skin and sunk into the tub, the water lukewarm, just enough to coax the ache out of her bones. She leaned her head back, letting her hair float like ink across the surface. Her eyes stared at the cracked ceiling.
"I can't keep living like this… I'll die of sleep deprivation before I ever figure out why I'm here," she muttered under her breath, voice echoing slightly in the wooden tub's shell.
There was no plan. No direction. Just survival—and even that felt like a chore.
"What's the point anymore? I have no aspirations here. No family. No name that matters."
"But… starving to death doesn't sound particularly noble either. If I'm alive, I should at least try to live—barely scraping by isn't the same as being alive."
Her thoughts drowned in steam until a sharp knock pulled her out of the haze.
Her body tensed instantly. Another knock. Her heart leapt.
Not again. Please, not again—
She stood up, wrapping the coarse sheet around her like a towel and padded barefoot to the door. But when she opened it, it wasn't a drunkard. It was Lora.
The maid looked different—tired, cheeks blotched with red and her hair a little frazzled from rushing.
"Miss… this is all I could find," she said quickly, breath shallow. She didn't wait for gratitude. She handed Mae the bundle wrapped in rough linen and turned to leave.
Mae reached out instinctively, fingers brushing Lora's elbow. "Did something happen?"
Lora paused, her lips parting—but whatever truth she held died in her throat. She simply shook her head and left without another word.
Mae stood there for a moment, watching the girl disappear down the corridor, the soft patter of her slippers swallowed by the creaky wood.