The song of splashes and steam whispers in her ear. Awaken, Bella. Awaken. Eyes open. Ears bend. Thoughts stir. The air itself is sighing all around her, drawn in by the music played by a dozen tall pipes pouring water into the basin of grass and rocks. The smell all around her is clean, barely fragrant. There are herb scents and floral notes here, but faint. So very faint. All of it is pulled into the steam and cleaned until the only information her breath can tell her is that this is a place of healing. 

The water soaks into her fur. It glistens on her bare skin. The water ripples over her and dwindles away in tiny waves, washing more and more of the red away. Bit by bit she is cleansed. The red that had been smeared in everything washes away, leaving pristine soft white fur and pale skin that manages to almost be beautiful in spite of the many marks and gouges that still mar her body. 

Something like wine, and yet not wine, is poured gently into her mouth. It is lighter, sweeter, and yet somehow more astringent. It leaves her mouth feeling clean. This is something she knows, though she has never had a name for it. Nero insisted on it whenever she was bathing. Attending to her and Redana when they would attempt bonding meant bringing out bottle after bottle of the stuff in a steady procession. Always in clean white ceramic containers, to preserve the flavor and the purity. It's a scent and a flavor that is inextricably linked with baths. 

She sighs, drawing short into a wince as her skin starts stitching more cuts together with fresh unblemished skin. Every part of the process on display for her audience, today. Every part of her, on display. Her greatness, her size, her strength, her softness, her curves, and the perfection of the ritual preparations that marked the original intention among Humankind for her species. Almost human. Almost. You could mistake her for one, in the dark. Touch her. Feel her. She belongs. No guilt. But the luxurious fur now swimming in this hot bath made her exotic. Lesser. A pet and a companion. A maid with skilled hands to accomplish every chore. A songstress or a silent mouth, at Mistress' pleasure. It had been a mistake, or a design beyond the ken of her pedigree, that turned her into the thrice-terrifying Diodekoi. 

She would shrug, but the energy was being put to use elsewhere in her body. She lets her head lean back into a warm rock instead, and her blue-black hair splays into a halo on the surface of the water all around her. Lantern light sparkles all around her. On her. On her more than anyone. Even now? Yes, even now. 

"Hey, Mynx?"

"Nnnnnnnnnnnn."

"Sorry. Redana, then. Princess. What... are we? Us, I mean. Do you want me gone, or here? Alive or dead? Am I your prisoner? Or am I... something else? Are we?"

The sound of water trickling down awaits the answer. The currents massage and the steam relaxes. Somewhere in her exhausted mind, the not-wine carries up a strange and pointless thought up through everything. With the priestess-garb of Artemis in ruins and finally peeled off her body, she had not so much as a stitch of clothing left to her name. Nothing here was hers, and her authority was stripped from her. And it never reached this far out, besides. So it would be this, then. This forever. Heh. Hehehe. The idea of it makes her chuckle even as she waits for her answers. What a treat this would be for someone. Maybe everyone. 

She was, after all, born to be perfect.