“Yes, that is the translation, I believe.”
She continued to untangle and shampoo my hair while telling me stories of her growing up in White River. After she washed and rinsed my hair, I scrubbed my body three times over and rinsed from head to toe with fresh buckets of warm water. Nyla helped me from the tub, handing me a towel to wrap around my body.
She blotted my hair dry with another towel before leading me from the bathroom to the dressing room.
A large dressing table with a triptych mirror sat on the long side of the dressing room. As Nyla led me towards it, I was nearly halted by the image of myself confronting me from three different directions after weeks of living with only little glasses to peer into.