The curtain fell behind me with a soft hush of fabric.
Eleanor sat beside a wide wooden bathtub, wrapped in a light blue robe that clung to the curve of her shoulders and the swell of her breasts. She poured liquid from a small glass container into the steaming water, slow, deliberate streams catching lantern light in thin golden threads. Steam curled upward in lazy spirals, thickening the air with sweet herbal scent that settled heavy on my tongue.
A second chair waited beside her, empty.
"Please sit," she said, glancing at me once. Her dark eyes flicked over my face before returning to the pour.
I sat. The wooden seat was warm under my thighs.
"You came for answers," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
She set one container down with a soft clink and picked up another. I leaned forward slightly, elbows on my knees, searching for the single thread that might pull everything else loose.
"Who am I?" I asked.
