Book 14: Out of Juice

Maeve

I’m not one to wear sun dresses and cardigans. I’ve never considered myself softly girly, by any means. I like clothing I can move in–athletic shorts, sneakers, a sweatshirt if it’s chilly… or the sweeping, ethereal fashions I grew up with in Veiled Valley–gowns and cloaks of satin and silk.

I look in the rust-eaten mirror in the tiny bathroom, running my fingers through my frizzy dark hair. It’s the best I can do as it stands. I don’t have a comb. I don’t have pins or a scrunchy to keep my mane pulled back away from my face. I’m just… me in my rawest form, I suppose.

I stare at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot and glazed, and my fingertips prickle with adrenaline as I swipe toothpaste onto a shiny new plastic toothbrush Soren left on the counter for me. I spent most of the morning in bed, finding it hard to move. My body feels numb and stiff, and every breath is a struggle, but I manage to brush my teeth and limp back into the main room