Ren rubbed soap all over his body, cleaning himself. He scrubbed his skin harshly with his hands, as if to wash away something that had been stained.
Over and over.
He continued to do so until tears began to stream down his cheeks. The warm liquid now fell into the cold water.
Zayden had prepared a warm bath, but it had cooled down—not because it was meant to, but because Ren had turned off the hearth beneath the bathtub that kept the water from cooling during winter.
"Why?" he muttered to himself.
Why did he bring up Ilyan?
His chest stung painfully. The hurt he felt now suffocated his lungs—it was worse than when he had been stabbed by the Temple's guards.
That name would never leave him. It would haunt him—perhaps until death. Ren didn't mind it.
However, just when he had begun to slowly, gradually welcome happiness, he was dragged back to the beginning.
