She found number four and slid the key into the door, turning it to the satisfying click of a heavy locking mechanism. The door handle loosened after the second counter-clockwise revolution, swinging into a spacious room with two immaculately made beds with nightstands, two windows, even a writing desk and a closet. There were old brass candle holders on the nightstands, now holding milky-white, candlestick-sized quartz crystals. The words “Flick to set alight, flick to snuff out.” were etched into the metal.

As the barkeep had promised, the room did have a separate bathroom, past a door at the right side of the room opposite the first bed. It was rather small, but held all the necessities - a sink, a toilet, and a solid copper bathtub, copper piping winding from the appliances into the walls. It was lit by a single glowing crystal in a brass cage on the ceiling. There were three exposed pipes above the tub, a white towel hanging off the middle one. The bath had a simple valve to control the flow of water, above which was a brass dial with increments from zero to eighty degrees. Next to the bathtub at the same height as its rim there was a small ledge that extended out of the wall, upon which sat several large phials of salt, an oblong sea sponge with a thick cord threaded through its center, and… A wickless candlestick?

Upon closer inspection, and from its fragrant smell, it became clear it was, in fact, just a strangely shaped bar of soap. Even its shape soon made sense from the item that had sat just behind it - this being a solid brass implement, not unlike an oversized pencil sharpener. She saw no reason to wait any longer, and so simply closed the door, turning the dial to forty and opening the water valve. At first only cold water came out, but it quickly warmed to what she thought to be a reasonable temperature for bathing, and so she took to shedding her clothing.

First went the arm-harness and cleaver in its holster, which on second thought she placed just outside the door in case the steam caused any of the metal parts to take on rust. Next she peeled herself out of her trousers, small wisps of Fog escaping the fabric as it shrunk to its natural shape, after which she unwrapped the many meters of bandages that bound her chest. The makeshift underwear she had fashioned didn’t come off as much as it fell apart at the knots when she gave a light tug, fluttering to the floor as little more than scraps of fabric rendered threadbare by constant movement. “Should probably buy something proper,” a thought crossed her mind. Last of all, she undid the wrappings holding her braids together, shaking her head to loosen the hair somewhat.

Finally she stepped into the bath, her feet riding up onto the rim as she sank into the rising water as her hair swirled throughout it, braids unwinding.