Omen
Hannah
As the heavy rainfall continued on, it saturated everything it touched—streets, forests, fields—washing them out.
Even the bathhouse was not spared. Guests, often drenched to the bone, dragged long trails of water inside when they entered.
Puddles gathered near the entrance; a few sodden shoes carried the damp even further, creeping through the corridors and into the innermost parts of the Thermonion.
It was an eyesore to the old Orc woman.
“Corridors will be cleaned throughout the day as well!” she ordered, hands planted firmly on her hips. She looked utterly furious that something so simple, so primitive, would dare threaten her precious, orderly bathhouse.
For me, it meant more work—but not more time.
I still had to complete my daily rounds of the single baths, while also keeping an eye on the corridors, making sure they stayed dry.
Any lapse in attention meant punishment—and as I had learned over time, punishment meant no food.
The ache of an empty stomach was nothing I feared anymore.
Sometimes, I preferred it. A bodily reaction that reminded me I was still here.
That I was still alive.
Not alive.
Existing.
I made my rounds. Checked the entrance. The receptionist—a large, fat, green, toad-like creature—sat behind the desk. He did not look at me, did not acknowledge that I was even there. I did not matter to him.
The entrance was dry.
I cleaned a few puddles along the corridors as I made my way back to the private pools. Cleaning bucket and supplies in hand, I entered the room.
I looked around. Everything was as it should be.
Almost.
A crumpled towel lay on the bench.
A guest must have forgotten it, I thought.
As I placed my bucket on the floor, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
I froze.
Slowly, I straightened and looked towards the pool. The water shimmered in its usual faint bluish-green hue. But the smooth surface rippled, as though something had disturbed it.
I watched.
The ripples faded. The water stilled. Back to normal.
Maybe just a drop of condensation, I told myself, brushing the thought aside.
I turned my attention back to the towel. It would need to be returned to the washhouse once I had finished my rounds. Walking over, I picked it up.
It was dry. Clean.
I glanced back at the pool. The surface remained untouched. The fire crackled softly. Everything seemed normal.
Had someone already cleaned this room?
A sense of unease washed over me.
No. Impossible. This bath was part of my rotation. I did not have time for this.
I turned back to the towel.
Then I heard it.
A splash—so faint I almost missed it.
I startled and spun around again, scanning the room. The water lay smooth and glassy. Nothing was amiss.
Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, forcing myself to breathe.
“I must be hearing things,” I muttered.
Determined to finish as quickly as possible, I folded the towel.
Movement.
I stopped dead.
On the floor beside me, a shadow stretched and crept forward.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Until it touched me.
It spilled over me, swallowed me whole, plunging me into darkness. A faint breeze raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Dread surged up and down my spine.
Someone was behind me.
In the deafening silence, I heard breathing—soft, deliberate. I felt it brush against my back, slide over my shoulders, envelop me.
A guest, I told myself, desperately clinging to reason.
Turning, I said apologetically, “Forgive me. I thought this room was vacant.”
There was only shadow.
No body.
Confused, I lifted my gaze.
Dread consumed me.
I stared into two golden orbs, split cleanly in half by thin, vertical slits.
I yelped, stumbling backwards. My legs hit the bench, buckling, and I fell against it, striking my head against the stone wall. Pain exploded across my skull.
Hovering over me was a massive, snake-like creature. Its red-orange scales gleamed like molten copper in the candlelight. Its unblinking eyes bore into me—through me—into my very soul.
It opened its mouth, revealing two long, pointed fangs and rows of smaller, no less vicious teeth.
Gasping for air, I struggled to steady my racing heart.
“Who… are… you?” the stranger asked, its voice barely more than a whisper.
“F-forgive me,” I stammered. “I shouldn’t be here. I’ll leave.”
I tried to stand—to put distance between myself and whatever this creature was.
As I scrambled to my feet, it leaned closer, invading my space. I lost my balance and fell back against the bench once more.
I measured the distance to the door.
It noticed.
The creature shifted slightly to the side, blocking my view—blocking my only escape.
“Who… are… you?” it asked again.
“No one,” I choked out, my throat tightening.
Tilting its head ever so slightly, it murmured, “Are… you… lost?”
“No.” Yes.
It stared at me, knowing. Knowing I was lying.
“So fragile… so small,” it inhaled. Its pupils dilated suddenly, expanding until I was staring into nothingness. Darkness. The void.
Danger.
Every fibre of my being screamed at me to run.
Get away.
“Tiny creature,” it crooned softly. “Have you… lost… something?”
Everything, I screamed silently, the surge of emotion making me gasp.
My instincts took over.
Sliding along the bench, I edged towards the wall. It watched my every movement.
It was the hunter.
I was the prey.
Keeping my eyes fixed on it, I inched closer to the door, afraid that any sudden movement would make it strike. My fingers closed around the bucket.
“Oh… do… stay… tiny… creature,” it purred.
“Excuse me.”
I wrenched the door open and fled out into the corridor. My mind was reeling, my body shuddered and shook. Shallow breaths threatened to send me into hyperventilation. I forced myself to draw in a long, deep, deliberate breath.
Calm. Be calm.
I would get punished if the room wasn′t clean.
I didn′t care. Punish me. I left.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this incident wouldn’t let me go so easily.