Chapter 41: Oren
Where is the justice of political power if it executes the murderer and jails the plunderer, and then itself marches upon neighboring lands, killing thousands, and pillaging the very hills? - Kahlil Gibran
The egg room is hot and humid, and steam lingers in the air. Stepping out of the shower stall, I wrap a towel around my body.
Wet hair falls over my shoulders, leaving small river tracks of water cascading down my neck, chest, and back. Plodding up to the vanity, I dry off and drape the damp towel over my wet hair. I take in the full length of my reflection.
Pink glowing eyes stare back at me.
Deep down, I'm still the person I was a week ago. But somehow, I know I'm different. When outside of Vlad's living quarters, many of the colony inhabitants stare and point at me from afar. They fear me because I'm from the House of Oren.