I stepped into the chamber, the air still carrying the faint perfume of old tapestries, the magical lantern flickering against the carved wooden door. After bathing in the large copper tub, I wrapped myself in a thick linen robe and slid my tired body to the edge of the canopy bed. The high frame, the soft mattress, the crimson velvet curtains — it was a bed made for royalty.
I closed my eyes and let the weight of the night sink into my shoulders. In a whisper meant for no one but the shadows, I said:
"I'll help you heal, Gruk. Trust me."
The memory returned to me — during the last cleansing, when his unmoving limb had given way beneath my fingers. What was rigid had softened. He had sighed, a sound so strange, so human, that it had pierced me. For the first time, I knew: he could truly be treated.
I remembered the warmth — pulsing in my palm — alive. Not just flesh. Not just wound. It was someone. Gruk. Silent, incomprehensible, but there. And I… I liked that.
I liked not being alone.
In this world of stone, slime, and shadows, that simple truth made everything less unbearable.
The sound of the congo echoed down the corridor, vibrating through the walls like an ancient summons — not to the ears, but to the soul. I lifted my gaze from the book I had been pretending to read, the rhythm pulling me away from heavy thoughts.
And I smiled.
Not a polite, princess's smile. A smile that rose from somewhere deep, as if my body remembered what my mind had long forgotten.
It was time.
Time to dance. Time to breathe. Time to be myself.
I rose lightly, my nightgown flowing like water along my body. Bare feet met the cold floor, and I let the drum guide me.
"Hmm… laa… laa…" I hummed, spinning, arms open, face lit with a joy only the music could awaken.
My hips began to sway, slow circles drawn in the air, as if in dialogue with the drum. My arms lifted like golden serpents, fingers alive, my hair loose and wild, following every turn. My body became the instrument — shoulders, back, knees all surrendering to the rhythm.
I didn't dance to be seen.
I danced because it was impossible not to.
Sweat beaded across my skin, catching the lantern's glow like tiny crystals. My breath deepened, hot, quick, and the fabric of my nightgown clung to me, damp and transparent in places, betraying every curve.
And then—
I felt it.
Not with my eyes, but with my skin. The presence. Heavy, altering the air around me.
I turned slowly.
Gruk stood in the corner, half-shadowed. His eyes wide. His head tilted. His breath uneven, chest heaving like he had run. His rough hands gripped his tunic, as if holding himself back.
And I smiled.
Not as a princess.
As a girl who, for once, wasn't alone.
I stepped toward him, my hand warm and slick with sweat, and reached for his — small, rough, nails crooked, skin scarred with stories untold.
"Let's play," I whispered.
He blinked, confused, hesitant. But he didn't run.
I pulled him gently into the rhythm, and though clumsy, though stumbling, he followed.
And then we laughed.
A laugh that shattered the silence inside me, that turned the cavernous chamber into something alive.
But as I spun close, the smell hit me — raw, earthy, mold and onion. I didn't flinch. I didn't wrinkle my nose. I only thought, wryly: Gods, he smells like a forgotten cave.
Still, I held tighter.
Because the joy was greater than the discomfort.
We danced, sweat slicking my skin, my nightgown plastered to me like a second skin. The rhythm built, higher, faster, until I collapsed onto the floor, breathless, hair sticking to my forehead, chest heaving.
And then—two short, firm arms wrapped around me from behind.
I screamed, startled, but the scream broke into laughter as Gruk clung to me, strong and rough.
"Gruk!" I gasped between giggles. "You nearly killed me with fright!"
He made a guttural sound, half-choked, but I knew what it meant: You're mine now. My friend. My only one.
His embrace was crushing, almost too much, his belly pressing hard into my back, his breath hot and ragged at my neck. The smell was overwhelming, suffocating. And still… I let him.
Because no one had ever held me like this. Not gently. Not tenderly. But truly.
I felt the desperation in his grip — the instinct to seize, to fuse, to keep me from vanishing. It was rough, almost painful, yet in it burned something I had never been given: presence.
I gasped, but I didn't resist.
Because even if his body was foul, even if the weight was heavy, what I felt was real.
For the first time, I was not untouched. Not unseen.
Gruk held me. And even in his roughness, even in his chaos, there was truth.
And that… was unforgettable.