Speaker 1: Us study hers the candle light bath. Sierra filled the
Speaker 1: tub slowly, letting the water run in a steady stream.
Speaker 1: The sound was soft, like rain on a tin roof,
Speaker 1: and it filled the small bathroom with a gentle hum.
Speaker 1: She tested the water with her hand. It was warm,
Speaker 1: not hot, the kind of warmth that seeps into your
Speaker 1: skin and stays there. She set ten candles around the
Speaker 1: edge of the tub. They were small, white and unscented.
Speaker 1: She lit them one by one using a long match
Speaker 1: that she held carefully above the flame. The first candle
Speaker 1: flickered to life, casting a small pool of golden light
Speaker 1: on the tile. The second joined it, then the third,
Speaker 1: until the bathroom glowed with soft, warm light. The candles
Speaker 1: were arranged in a rough circle around the tub. Their
Speaker 1: flames reflected on the water, creating a ring of light
Speaker 1: that moved with each small ripple. Sierra watched the reflections.
Speaker 1: They swayed and danced, golden and alive, as if the
Speaker 1: water itself were breathing. She turned off the overhead light.
Speaker 1: The bathroom fell into a soft, golden darkness. The only
Speaker 1: light came from the candles. The only sound was the water,
Speaker 1: now still, and the faint crackle of the wicks. Sierra
Speaker 1: stood at the edge of the tub and looked at
Speaker 1: the water. It was clear and calm, the surface unbroken,
Speaker 1: the light dancing across it like stars on a lake.
Speaker 1: She stepped into the water, slowly, one foot at a time.
Speaker 1: The warmth enveloped her, first her ankles, then her calves,
Speaker 1: then her knees. She sank down until the water reached
Speaker 1: her shoulders and the warmth settled into her bones. She
Speaker 1: closed her eyes and breathed. The tension she had carried
Speaker 1: all day, the tightness in her neck and the ache
Speaker 1: in her lower back, began to loosen. The water held her,
Speaker 1: cradled her, lifted the weight from her muscles. Sierra lay
Speaker 1: back and let her body float. The water supported her completely.
Speaker 1: She did not need to hold herself up. She did
Speaker 1: not need to think about her posture, her breathing the
Speaker 1: way she was sitting. She simply lay there, warm and weightless,
Speaker 1: and let the water do the work. The candles flickered,
Speaker 1: their flames leaned and swayed, as if in a gentle breeze,
Speaker 1: though there was no breeze in the room. The light
Speaker 1: moved with them, casting shifting shadows on the walls. Sierra
Speaker 1: opened her eyes and watched the dance of light and shadow.
Speaker 1: The shadows were soft, not sharp. They moved slowly, like
Speaker 1: clouds across a summer sky. She thought about the day,
Speaker 1: about the e mails she had answered, the meetings she
Speaker 1: had attended, the decisions she had made. She thought about
Speaker 1: the people she had spoken to, the words she had used,
Speaker 1: the way she had felt afterward. Some of it was good,
Speaker 1: some of it was hard. All of it was behind
Speaker 1: her now. The day was over, and here she was
Speaker 1: in the warm water, surrounded by candle light, with nothing
Speaker 1: left to do but be. Sierra reached for the soap.
Speaker 1: It was a bars of French milled soap, lavender scented,
Speaker 1: and it lathered easily in her hands. She rubbed it
Speaker 1: between her palms and then over her arms, her shoulders,
Speaker 1: her neck. The scent rose from the water, mixing with
Speaker 1: the clean smell of the candles. The lavender was soft,
Speaker 1: not strong, and it settled into the air like a
Speaker 1: gentle whisper. She washed slowly, taking her time with each movement.
Speaker 1: There was no rush. The water was still warm, the
Speaker 1: candles still burning, the night still young. She let the
Speaker 1: soap slide over her skin, feeling the smoothness of it,
Speaker 1: the slipperiness, the way it left a thin film of
Speaker 1: foam on the surface of the water. She watched the
Speaker 1: foam drift across the tub, tiny white islands in a
Speaker 1: golden sea. When she was done, she rinsed and sank
Speaker 1: back into the water. The soap was gone, but the
Speaker 1: scent remained faint and sweet. Sierra closed her eyes again.
Speaker 1: The warmth was deeper, now, not just in her skin,
Speaker 1: but in her muscles, her joints, her bones. She felt
Speaker 1: it in her fingers, in the arches of her feet,
Speaker 1: in the base of her skull. The water was holding her,
Speaker 1: and she was letting go. She did not think about tomorrow.
Speaker 1: She did not think about the e mails waiting in
Speaker 1: her inbox, or the meetings scheduled for the morning, or
Speaker 1: the conversations she needed to have. She did not think
Speaker 1: about the things she had done or the things she
Speaker 1: had not done. She was here, in the warm water,
Speaker 1: in the candle light, and that was enough. The candles
Speaker 1: burned lower, the flames grew smaller, but they did not
Speaker 1: go out. They held their light, steady and sure, as
Speaker 1: if they had all the time in the world. Sierra
Speaker 1: watched them. She counted them one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Speaker 1: All ten were still burning. All ten were still casting
Speaker 1: their light on the water. She stayed in the top
Speaker 1: until the water began to cool. It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly.
Speaker 1: The warmth faded by degrees, moving from her shoulders to
Speaker 1: her hands, from her chest to her feet. Sierra felt it,
Speaker 1: but she did not rush to get out. She let
Speaker 1: the cooling happen, let her body adjust to the changing temperature,
Speaker 1: let the evening wind down naturally. When the water was
Speaker 1: too cool to stay any longer, she stood and stepped
Speaker 1: out of the tub. The air was cool against her
Speaker 1: wet skin, but the candles kept the room warm. She
Speaker 1: dried herself with a soft towel, wrapped her hair in
Speaker 1: a second towel, and put on her robe. The robe
Speaker 1: was thick and warm, and it held the heat of
Speaker 1: the bath close to her body. She blew out the
Speaker 1: candles one by one. The room grew darker with each
Speaker 1: flame that died. The last candle flickered, leaned, and went out,
Speaker 1: leaving a thin wist of smoke curling toward the ceiling.
Speaker 1: Sierra stood in the darkness for a moment, listening to
Speaker 1: the silence. The water in the top was still, the
Speaker 1: candles were gone. The room was quiet and cool and calm.
Speaker 1: She walked to the bedroom, her feet leaving damp prints
Speaker 1: on the wooden floor. The bed was waiting, the sheets
Speaker 1: cool and clean. Sierra climbed in and pulled the covers
Speaker 1: up to her chin. The pillows were soft, the mattress supportive,
Speaker 1: the darkness complete. She closed her eyes. The scent of
Speaker 1: lavender lingered, faint and sweet. The warmth of the bath
Speaker 1: was still in her body, deep in her muscles, in
Speaker 1: her bones. She did not think, She did not play,
Speaker 1: She only felt the warmth, the softness, the stillness. Sleep
Speaker 1: came like the water had come, slowly and gently, rising
Speaker 1: around her, until she was floating in it, weightless and warm.
Speaker 1: Sierra slept deeply and well, and when she woke in
Speaker 1: the morning, the candles were gone and the bath was cold,
Speaker 1: but the warmth remained deep in her body, a quiet
Speaker 1: reminder of the night before.