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rumor before confirming its validity, and I cringed at the idea of what would happen should he misinterpret my situation with his daughter.
    I swallowed my fears and entered Kathryn’s room. She motioned for me to shut the door, completely this time, and then pulled open her window curtains. Sunlight burst through, washing across her skin like heaven’s light. Morning glow poured over her, embellishing the gentle folds in her shimmering, green satin dress and setting the long curls of her red hair aflame with copper sheen.
    Kathryn stepped closer, pulled a chair up behind me, and then took a seat directly across from me in another chair. She plopped down and a porcelain bowl of water swished around in her lap. There was a washcloth already fully saturated and resting at the bottom.
    She withdrew the cloth, wrung out most of the water by making a tight fist, and then opened her fingers and brought the rag up to my brow. I wanted to squirm and pull away, but my body refused to budge once the cool moisture wicked my forehead. The fresh water soothed my face and I closed my eyes as her fingers guided it over my skin.
    It was surely a sin for a lady to tend to a servant the way she did, and I wanted to tell her that. But her attention was so heartening, I couldn’t resist letting my shoulders relax and allowing my weight to sink deeper into the chair.
    She swept a stray lock behind my ear. My lashes rose and I looked her in the eye. Her breath stopped and the cloth fell from her hand, splashing into the water bowl.
    “What? What is it, Kathryn?” I asked, startled by her silence.
    Her hands grasped my face and a thumb slid across my cheek.
    “Matthaya.” She paused to look me over. “Behind all that dirt and hair, you are very beautiful.”
    What!?
    “No!” I pulled my face from her grasp and hissed. “If your father were to hear you, he would kill us both.” Her honesty was kind to my ears but painful to my heart—we were not at liberty to think such things and the struggle to ignore them grew more difficult with age.
    “I’m not finished with you!” She pulled on my arm hard as I attempted to stand.
    “You cannot change who I am,” I growled, flopping reluctantly back down onto the chair. “This will not alter the way they feel about our friendship.” I crossed my arms and tucked my hands into the bends of my elbows.
    Metal clinked as she took a small pair of shears into her hand.
    I didn’t like being touched, but…
    “You do know how to use those? Don’t you?” I asked, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
    She said nothing in reply and wrinkled her lips angrily to one side. I looked away.
    Lock by lock, unkempt pieces of my hair drifted to the floor. A frightening amount of hair was coming off.
    She took a small comb from her dresser and ran it through my hair, brushing more to one side than the other, some back behind my ears and then the rest down against the nape of my neck. I rubbed the base of my neck with my fingertips and looked back toward Kathryn, who was now holding a dainty mirror in her hands. It was odd, indeed, feeling nothing where hair had once been.
    A groan slipped from my lips involuntarily as my reflection was revealed. “It’s too… plain.” I raked both hands through my hair and ruffled it between my fingers to give it more life. “Otherwise, it’s wonderful,” I noted with a grin. “Much better. Thank you.”
    Kathryn sighed in relief.
    She didn’t argue with my adjustments and turned to gather a pile of fabric from atop her dresser. She handed the stack of clothes to me and I stiffened.
    They were her father’s.
    “He disposed of them years ago, Matthaya,” she said. “And I assure you they have long since been forgotten.”
    The jacket was made of fine linen, deep ruby-colored and looked to be my size. I pulled my arms through the sleeves, shrugged it over my shoulders, and marveled at its near-perfect fit. Both the color and texture were exquisite—something the likes