I stood blank.
“My queen, welcome to your kingdom. Please accept my greetings. I am honoured to serve you.”
A voice from behind caught my attention. I turned back — an old lady stood there, her presence calm yet commanding. She slowly ascended the steps and walked toward me. Her hand rose, resting gently on my head before she clasped my palm in hers. Her eyes… they held something serene, something ancient — a peace so deep and distinct that I couldn’t quite comprehend it.
She moved ahead toward the pool and dipped her fingers into the water. “The water is perfectly warm and safe,” she said softly. “I hope you will enjoy the bath.”
“My queen, please step into the water and allow us to offer you a warm and comforting bath,” she added with a bow.
I didn’t know her, yet her tone and gestures carried a strange familiarity — enough to quiet my doubts. I stepped forward and sat on the low stairs that descended into the pool. The warmth enveloped me instantly. The girls followed, moving gracefully around me.
One of them spoke gently, asking me to lean back. They untied my hair from its bun, gathering the strands before dipping them into a smaller tub of water. A wave of relief coursed through me. The warm water soothed my skin, melting away the tension in my body. For a moment, I felt safe… almost at home.
The warmth of the water embraced me like a silken veil. Ripples shimmered around as the girls moved closer, their steps soundless against the marble floor. One knelt behind me, her hands gentle as she poured a fragrant blend of herbs and flowers over my hair. Another softly massaged my shoulders, her touch easing the stiffness that had long made a home there.
They worked in perfect rhythm — one washing, one rinsing, one applying delicate strokes of golden paste along my arms. The paste smelled of sandalwood and jasmine, its touch cool against my skin. Someone else knelt by my feet, rubbing them with oils that smelled faintly of roses and rain-soaked earth.
The air was filled with an intoxicating fragrance — a mixture of warm water, herbs, and something unnameable, something ancient. My thoughts grew light. The tension in my body slowly dissolved, like mist melting under morning sun.
The girls spoke softly among themselves, their laughter gentle as the water that lapped at my skin. I didn’t understand all their words — some were whispers, some songs — but the sound alone was comforting. I just listened, quietly, letting their voices blend into the rhythm of the water.
I felt my breath steady, my heart calm. The warmth, the scent, the faint hum of their conversation — it all felt unreal, like drifting in a dream woven of peace and light.
For the first time in what felt like ages, I was completely… at ease.
As time slipped quietly by, the water began to still, its warmth lingering like an embrace. One of the girls leaned in and poured a final jug of rose-scented water over my hair, her movements unhurried and graceful. I felt every drop trail down my skin — soft, cleansing, unburdening.
Another girl offered her hand, guiding me to stand. The old lady returned, her eyes still carrying that serene glow. She nodded once, and the others moved with quiet understanding.
They wrapped me in soft, white cloth that smelled faintly of lotus and musk. The fabric clung gently to my skin, warm from the steam of the bath. My damp hair was carefully brushed, the strands untangled with fingers more tender than I’d known in years.
They led me toward a cushioned seat by the side of the pool. One began to pat my hands dry while another applied a thin oil along my arms, massaging it in slow, rhythmic motions. The old lady hummed a melody — low and ancient — and the sound seemed to echo softly through the chamber.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. Their words flowed around me — light chatter, laughter, stories of things I couldn’t yet understand. And still, their presence felt familiar… like I belonged there, somehow.
The scent of the oils mixed with the steam, filling the air with warmth and sweetness. My eyelids grew heavy. For the first time in a long while, my mind wasn’t racing, questioning, or resisting. It simply rested — quietly, peacefully.
When I finally looked up, the old lady was watching me again. Her eyes softened with a smile that reached somewhere deep within me.
“You must be tired, my queen,” she said gently. “The night is still young. Rest a while — there is much yet for you to remember.”
Her words lingered like a whisper at the edge of my thoughts.
The girls moved with quiet devotion, their every gesture carrying grace. They brought out a flowing garment of crimson and gold, its fabric shimmering like sunlight caught in silk. With delicate care, they helped me dress, layer by layer — each fold resting perfectly against my skin.
Once I was wrapped in the attire of a queen, one girl dipped her fingertip into a small bowl and brushed a faint red tint across my lips. Another traced a thin line of kohl along my eyes, her hands steady and gentle. The world seemed to deepen with every touch — colours grew warmer, the air more fragrant.
A third girl placed a small crimson bindi between my brows. It gleamed softly, like a spark of life awakened.
Then came the jewels — intricate ornaments of gold and crystal, cool against my skin. They adorned my neck, my wrists, my ears, each piece humming faintly, as if alive with memory. When they placed the final crown-like ornament upon my head, I hardly recognised the reflection that met my eyes in the water.
The girls spoke softly as they worked, their words like a gentle breeze:
“Her skin shines like moonlight.”
“Such eyes — like the calm before dawn.”
“Her hair… look how it flows, dark as night and soft as silk.”
“Our queen — she is perfect in every way.”
I listened silently. Their admiration felt distant yet strangely familiar, like hearing a lullaby I had long forgotten.
Then the old lady stepped forward. Her gaze held pride and something deeper — devotion, perhaps.
“You are the perfect match for our king, dear queen,” she said, her voice low but certain.
The word match echoed through me like a chime in still air.
Match?
The thought lingered — unsettling, unfamiliar, pulling at something buried within.
After drying my hair and gently massaging my body, they asked me to walk toward the far corner of the chamber. As they drew aside the heavy curtains, warm light spilled through the opening. They stepped back, allowing me to enter first, then followed quietly behind.
One of the girls gestured gracefully toward a cushioned couch. “Please, my queen, be seated.”
I obeyed without a word.
A few of them slipped out for a moment and soon returned, carrying the bundles they had brought earlier. One by one, they unveiled them — spreading the fabrics and ornaments before me like treasures from another world.
“Please look, my queen,” one said softly. “Choose what pleases you.”
My eyes moved slowly across the collection. The garments shimmered in hues of deep crimson, royal blue, and ivory gold. Each piece looked regal, heavy, and precious. The jewellery — crafted in gold and studded with gems — sparkled with a light of its own. It must have been the attire of their royal queens.
I had only to choose what I wished to wear. Yet, strangely, the task felt difficult — almost burdensome. My hand hovered in hesitation. Why was something so simple so confusing?
I took a deep breath and looked away from the glittering ornaments, turning to the old lady who had been watching me quietly all along.
“If you allow, my queen,” she said gently, her tone filled with devotion, “I would be honoured to dress you myself — to prepare you for your first day in your kingdom.”
She must have sensed my hesitation. I simply nodded.
The girls immediately moved under her guidance. Within moments, they returned with my chosen attire — a masterpiece of fabric and light — and the jewels that would complete it. I gave another small nod, and they began their work.
Their movements were calm, practised, filled with reverence. The sound of rustling fabric, the faint jingle of ornaments, and the quiet rhythm of their breathing filled the air — soft and steady, like a heartbeat in silence.
Finally, I was ready.
I turned toward the mirror, and for a long moment, my eyes refused to move. The reflection staring back at me didn’t feel like me — or perhaps it was me, as I had never seen myself before.
I had never looked this beautiful.
What are they? Magicians? Artists?
Their efforts were beyond words.
I stood slowly and turned toward them, wanting to say something — anything — but before I could speak, I saw their eyes glistening with tears.
“Dear queen,” one whispered, “this kingdom has never seen such a beautiful queen. You truly are an angel from the heavens.”
Their innocence tugged at my heart, and I couldn’t help but smile.
They had done all the work, yet they were the ones showering me with praise.
“Thank you, everyone,” I said softly, bowing my head to them. “You all are truly amazing — artists in your own right. I have never felt so beautiful in my entire life. Thank you for making me feel this way.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, all at once, they rushed toward me and pulled me into a hug.
I froze, wide-eyed. Did they just hug me?
Were people of this world even allowed to do that?
But the warmth of their embrace was so genuine, so full of affection, that my hesitation melted away. It felt… home-like. Comforting. Peaceful.
After a while, they stepped back, smiles still shining through their tears.
We walked out of the chamber — not through the same door we had entered, but another one. This one opened directly into a large bedchamber, grand and serene.
So many doors in this place… I thought, bewildered.
The old lady approached me. “Please rest for a while, my queen,” she said kindly. “We shall prepare the puja room and all the offerings.”
Not entirely understanding her words, I simply nodded.
When they left, silence wrapped around me. I sat down on the couch near the bed — still, motionless. No thoughts, no worries, no questions. Just stillness.
It felt as though I had returned home.
But this wasn’t my home.
This place was strange.
These people — strangers.
I didn’t even know their names… or why they treated me like I belonged here.
After a while, I heard the gate creak open.
I stood up immediately, thinking the girls had returned — but then froze in place.
“Didn’t I tell you to get out of this room?” I said coldly, meeting his gaze once again.
“No,” came his calm, unwavering reply.
Why is he like that? I questioned myself, annoyance sparking quietly inside me.
“Why did you come here?” I asked, my tone sharper now.
“To see you,” he replied simply.
He really said that. Just like that.
I took a step toward him, the faint jingle of my anklets breaking the silence. The sound filled the room, delicate yet sharp against the still air.
Making sure there was no furniture near me, I twirled once — the hem of my attire flaring lightly — and said mockingly, “Seen? Now get lost again.”
He smiled.
That smile — uff! Why did he always smile like that, especially when I was trying to insult him?
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the bathroom door. Maybe he needed some time alone, I thought, though I couldn’t tell if it was me or him who needed it more.
Frustrated, I sighed, walked back to the couch, and laid down.
Just for a little while.
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