The short Ithanian had vanished beneath the suds and water of the tub. Only the bridge of her nose and eyes were seen save for her waterlogged hair. She sat there for a long moment before lurching forward with a hack of a cough, water sputtering from her mouth- in the moment of utter mental drain, she had simply breathed in water and soap. She stared around the room in distraught after she eventually saved herself from drowning by soap, her gaze catching onto the yellow, and now red, uniform of the Rangers that was crumbled like a child's doll atop the floor. She rubbed her eyes with a sigh before flinging water at the accusing clothing as if to tell it to depart from her quarters, but of course it ignored the demand and continued it's uncomfortable slumber upon the floor.
The woman turned away from the uniform and instead to the water of her tub- nearly tipping the bath from her startle. The water itself seemed now to be blood. The Ithanian clattered from the waters and yanked her robe up to cover herself while nearly slipping into the floor- bones aching at the sudden moments. But she slid forward and cowered into her bed, head covered then by the quilts. The woman's eyes stared out across at the bed, shaky breath escaping her.
So much blood. Yet not a drop of it was her own.
No, her skin was clear of injury save bruises and two gashes on her face- though they were not bloody. That blood was the blood of those she'd murdered. Killed in the heat of protecting and saving his Imperial Holiness.
The woman curled up a bit and reached to a piece of lead and paper by her bed on the table. She pulled the parchment onto the mattress and wrote out only one word, 'To', before the tears began to flow. No, she told herself, she had no one to write. Not Valbrand nor Ania or even Veridan, who she would put aside her pettiness towards just to be able to write a letter despite the fact that she had never written him thus far. The Ithanian sniffled and then called for a maid, who quickly did away with the crime scene of a bathtub- filled with the blood of those that had no control. Filled with the blood shed spilt with her own blade.
Juliette dragged her hand down her face, her chambermaid returning and rebandaging her cheek and forehead, but despite all the movement and quiet chatter, the woman stuck to silence with only one nagging and repeating thought in her mind.
All her beloved friends were puppets to the Dragon.
