She wondered vaguely whose bones had gone into this jewelled comb as she pulled it idly through her hair, straightening up in a pointless display of vanity. It would all go everywhere as soon as she was back out on deck anyway, however much she tried to tie it back and keep it tame.
The sea air was doing her good, she decided, bringing a ruddy health to her cheeks, the rolling decks bringing a pleasingly loose gait to her gloriously restored limbs. As she put her hair back and revelled in her freedom, she nodded appreciatively. The Lady Bast had done well by her, especially given that she would never be one of hers...
She catches a glimpse of her face in the mirror as she passes, the profile of her face in the moonlight filtering through the window set high in the wall. It is clean, and smooth, and there is not enough blood. Where is all the blood?
That is not her real face, that clear-skinned and bright-eyed creature that glances uncritically in the mirror. Her real face is covered - feathers caked in blood, sewn through the skin, pierced through her eyebrows - her real face is gone, for the moment, perhaps forever.