Without a doubt, the ceiling was the most elegant thing Mara had ever seen across both of her lives.
She opened her eyes sluggishly, feeling as though her eyelids weighed a ton.
The first thing she managed to focus on was an immaculate white plaster molding, adorned with intricate reliefs and gold-leaf details that caught the early rays of the morning sun.
For a brief moment—while her mind still lingered in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness—she wondered if she had died once again.
Perhaps the god she now served with near-blind devotion—the one who had torn her from her monotonous former life, cast her into this female body—had decided that a single reincarnation simply wasn't enough.
If this is heaven, she thought with sharp irony as she tried to stretch, at least the service has improved considerably.
Slowly, Mara turned her head, becoming aware of the soft brush of silk sheets against her skin. That was when reality finally struck her in full.
She wasn't alone. Not even close.
She was surrounded by female bodies.
To her left, a dark-haired woman slept with her mouth slightly open, one heavy arm draped across Mara's waist.
To her right, two girls were so tightly entangled that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.
Beyond them, two more women occupied what little space remained on the bed.
Mara stayed perfectly still, allowing the memories of the previous night to resurface.
The orgy. The music that had vibrated through the mansion. The sweet wine they had served in endless glasses.
Hands, lips, sighs—everything blended together in her mind, forming a vivid collage that left her feeling strangely satisfied.
Well, Mara. You've really outdone yourself this time, she told herself, surveying the scene with amused cynicism.
She counted mentally. There were four women on the king-size bed besides herself.
However, the room was spacious, and the excess clearly hadn't been confined to the mattress alone.
Near the window, a woman slept deeply on a chaise longue. On the floor, atop an expensive rug, three—perhaps four—more women lay sprawled in uncomfortable positions.
All told, there had to be around ten people in the room, all of them naked, all of them submerged in the deep, heavy sleep that followed a night of unrestrained pleasure.
Once more, Mara's gaze drifted back to the ceiling as she reflected on her situation.
Barely a month ago, she'd been begging on the streets, wondering whether she'd survive the winter.
Now, she was waking up in the mansion of a marquise, surrounded by beauty and indulgence.
The irony was impossible to miss.
If she could, she would ask Alice to bring her along to visit Marquise Dahlia more often. Better yet, she'd find a way to attend events like this on a regular basis.
She had enjoyed the experience—far more than she would have expected.
There was something about the absolute freedom of the night, the absence of judgment, and the total surrender to the senses that resonated deeply with her new identity.
That pleasant contemplation, however, was interrupted by a far more mundane concern.
Her stomach let out a long, hollow growl.
Damn it. Hunger doesn't care about paradise, she thought with a grimace.
She'd grown spoiled.
During the three weeks she'd spent living at the inn with Alice, she'd become accustomed to waking up with breakfast practically ready.
Alice was an early riser; by the time Mara opened one eye, the other woman had already gone downstairs, ordered food, and likely read half a newspaper.
Here, however, in Dahlia's mansion, order was little more than an abstract concept.
With that realization, Mara decided it was time to move.
Carefully—and with a delicacy she hadn't known she possessed—she began disentangling herself from the arms and legs surrounding her.
She gently lifted the dark-haired woman's arm and eased it back onto the pillow.
Then, inch by inch, she slid toward the edge of the bed, careful not to make the mattress creak.
In the stillness of the early morning, even the smallest sound felt deafening.
Once her feet touched the carpet, she paused, watching to see if any of the women stirred. Nothing. Only slow, heavy breathing and the occasional soft snore filled the room.
Mara then began searching for something to wear.
She had no idea where her original clothes were, so she settled for whatever she could find.
Near the door, she spotted a fine silk robe discarded on the floor. It wasn't hers, but it would do. She slipped it on and tied the belt with a quick, practiced knot.
Finally, after casting one last glance at the room full of sleeping women, Mara made her way to the door.
Her hand closed around the golden knob, and with a smooth, quiet motion, she opened it and stepped out into the hallway.