Bronnah sleeps fitfully for two days. Her dreams are chaotic, cloudy images, blurred and terrifying. She’s frozen and mute, screaming for help inside a dark enclosed space. No one hears, and she wakes, covered in sweat, with tears streaming down her face. Each time, a cool hand, and calm voice presses her back down, soothing her. “You’re safe, now.”
On the evening of the third day, Bronnah wakes in a strange room. She sits up slowly and hears voices below her. Laughter and people talking. The room spins for a moment, and she waits for it to still. Still dressed in the clothes she ran away in, Bronnah stumbles to the dresser with a large mirror and gasps in horror at the image looking back at her.
“What has happened to you?” she murmurs. Her hair is a crazy mess of tangles and grease. Her face is smeared with old makeup, causing dark smudges under her eyes and red lipstick is spread across her cheek. Bronnah lifts a hand to smooth her hair and notices the bandage still on her wrist. Her hands begin to tremble as all the memories rush back in.
“It was real?”
The door opens, and Bronnah jumps in fear. A young woman with dark hair and chocolate eyes stares at her. "How are you feeling?" She moves towards Bronnah who steps away in terror. Aimee stops. "My name is Aimee Lancour, forgive me, Bronnah. You've been through a trauma. I only want to help."
“Aimee? I don’t know you, do I? Where’s Kai?” She demands, fearing for his safety.
"Kai is at home with his family. He will be by tomorrow, and no you don't know me. Kai brought you to me. We help each other from time to time. I own the Dress Shop below. These are my apartments. If you'd like, I have a private bathing room. You can get cleaned up and change, then fill me in over a light supper. How does that sound?"
Bronnah pushes two hands to her forehead and squeezes. “So many images, I can’t…” Aimee steps forward and pours a cup of water for her, but Bronnah no longer trusts so easily.
Aimee stares at her as understanding dawns. She sips the water first and then offers it once more. “I only want to help you.”
“Why?” Bronnah demands.
"Once, I made a promise that I would do the same for someone in need. You're in desperate need, the question is will you let me help you, Mon Amie?"
Bronnah smiles through unshed tears, “Yes, please.”
Aimee smiles and holds out a hand. "Let me show you to the bathing room." A large claw foot tub is waiting and looks like heaven to Bronnah. "You just pull this chord, and hot water will fill. This chord for cold water. I'll bring towels and soap. I took the liberty of bringing you a few dresses to try on. They're hanging in the closet behind this door. You should find all you need. Call if you need assistance."
She steps out leaving Bronnah to clean up. Bronnah pulls the pins from her hair and grabs a cloth to scrub the makeup from her face. The water basin is quickly full of muddy water. Once that's finished, she peels herself from the corset and tights. Kicking the offending garment from her body, she slowly peels the bandage off her wrist revealing the crusty, bloody scab. Bronnah pulls the chord to fill the tub as she studies the scab. "Why did they mark us like this?"
Climbing into the steaming hot tub, she sinks in with a hiss of relief. Bronnah soaks and weeps. She cries for the dreams she had that are now shattered and allows herself one moment to take it all in. When she begins to think of the girls who weren’t as lucky as her, her tears turn to fury.
"I promise they will pay," she hisses. The soap washes away the bloody mess on her wrist, and the mark stands out, resembling a black flower of some sort. She scrubs her hair clean and finally begins to feel normal.
Bronnah stands with water raining off her body and is determined to fight back. She towels dry and opens the closet to find three dresses hanging. They are stunning, simple and perfect for her, complete with underclothes. She chooses a midnight blue walking dress with a bustle and tight waist. Double rows of buttons down the bustier and three-quarter length sleeves.
The dress is a perfect complement to her eyes and hair color. Feeling somewhat normal she steps from the room. Aimee gasps when she turns and looked at her. “C’est Parfait!” It’s perfect!
“I love it. Thank you, Aimee, you are so kind. Did you make this?” Bronnah asked.
"I did. Let me help with your hair, and we can talk over some broth and biscuits." Bronnah moves to the window to look out over New York. The sun has set, and still the streets are busy and crowded. "Do you ever get used to the noise?" She wonders.
"You do. Now come tell me your story." Aimee gestures for her to sit at a small table and serves a cup of broth with a plate of biscuits. Bronnah sits and drinks the soup slowly. It hits her system and rushes through. She sighs with contentment and nibbles on a corner of the biscuit.
Glancing at Aimee, Bronnah starts to talk, telling her of the journey and the destination. Then she describes the girls she left behind and wipes her tears away, angrily.
“I have to help them, Aimee. I can’t leave them
