The bathroom waited for her in low, attentive silence; the sunken basin of black marble already brimming with water cold enough to hold its breath, the air above it trembling in soft, anticipatory veils.
She unfastened her robes without ceremony.
The dark silk slid from her shoulders in a single, languid surrender, it gathered for a heartbeat at the swell of her hips as though reluctant to part from such finely-curved terrain, then pooled at her feet in a black puddle of obsolete modesty.
The cool bathroom air met Sienna's bare skin in a low paradoxical hush; it was cold along the high planes of her shoulders and the soft undersides of her breasts, warm where the feather's residual aura still simmered in the marrow of her bones.
