sᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀs, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪᴠ

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The morning greets Omorfiá in gentle rays of sunlight dancing on her face. Her window is open, the breeze carrying in the warmth of the day, the sounds of songbirds, and the smells of the land; scents of spices and cooking foods, of sun-baked earth and the melting morning dew.

A knock sounds on her door. Omorfiá jolts, hand gripping the handle of her concealed blade.

"Who approaches?"

"A servant, Okusama.. we have a bath and clothes prepared for you."

It's a voice Omorfiá doesn't recognize. A soft-spoken female, obviously fearful of Omorfia's commanding tone.

The once-assassin sighs, reluctant to rise from her bed but nonetheless doing so. She is tired of the dirt and grime clinging to her skin.

Shuffling towards the door, Omorfiá slides it open, revealing a shorter, youthful and beautiful girl waiting on the other side. She's dressed in a simple kimono that she wears far better than Omorfiá could.

The girl nervously bows her head in respect, shuffling back to let Omorfiá out. "Th-this way..."

Omorfiá watches her step away, silently contemplating and analyzing. She studies her pace and movements, reading anxiety and caution in the girl's body language.

Despite the easy option to walk the other way, fleeing this home and everyone within it, the concept of a fresh bath is far too great a temptation for Omorfiá to refuse. She follows the timid servant, eyes roaming the halls as she's led to the bathhouse, adjacent to the main house.

In a passage of sweet-smelling soaps and water, Omorfiá is renewed and refreshed at the end of her wash. Her skin is once again porcelain white, the envy of the servants aiding her. They tend to her hair, brushing it and adding oils to make it smooth and shiny. They fasten it in a gentle plait at Omorfiá's request, laying over her shoulder. She's clothed in a silk kimono, bathed in a brilliant blue color.

With the dirt and grime scrubbed away from her skin, something else is cleaned and polished within Omorfiá. She's kinder, soft-spoken and smiling to the chatty maids. A weight is lifted off her shoulders, and she can breathe again.

A sudden knock on the bathhouse doors disturbs the chatter and conversation, turning the room silent. Omorfiá watches the figure that blocks the outside light from slipping through the cracks of the door.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I was sent to fetch Omorfiá. We ask for her presence at breakfast."

Omorfiá's eyes narrow as she stands. It sounds nothing like Leonardo. It is more studious, his words carefully picked from the pages of a book.

He sat at the table with a book and pen— Donatello.

"I will be there shortly."

Omorfiá watches the shadow pass by the door with her words, leaving her sight. She finds herself expected at the table, meeting the thought with slight dread. But, then again.. she did give her word, in some form, to be there.

Omorfiá bids the maids goodbye with a gentle bow of her head, standing from her seat. Her bare feet pad against the sanded and polished wood floor, sliding the door open.

Outside, Donatello waits patiently, standing as the tallest of his brothers, book in hand. Hearing the door part for Omorfiá's exit, he turns and bows in respect.

"Omorfiá."

Omorfiá views him with scrutiny, her gaze passing over him in search of his obvious weaknesses.

And then from behind him, one appears.

"As you may know, I am Donatello— this is my student, Grace."

          

Omorfiá watches the girl approach, radiant and bright like a personified ray of light. She has dark skin and a constellation of freckles over her face, her features completed by the dimples that appear with her smile. Her dreadlocks are woven together into a large braid, slipping over her shoulder as she bows to her.

"Hello. It's nice to meet you," Grace greets her, seeming genuine with her delight. She's dressed in a rather simple, plain kimono— her clothing dull in comparison to her natural beauty.

Omorfiá notices the look the two share, as well as their attempt to hide their clasped hands. However, this is not something for Omorfia to care about.

"Greetings," she returns the bow with a simple, formal reply. Rising back up, she looks at Donatello expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way.

"O-oh! Right! This way!"

The brother leads the two women down the hallways, his hand in Grace's hold the entire time. Omorfiá follows behind them, disinterested in their secret mumbling and shared laughter. She instead greatly looks forward to breakfast, and then her quick departure after.

Reaching a pair of large sliding doors, the servants grasp the handles and part them for the group of three, allowing them to pass through before they close behind them.

Donatello and Grace depart, moving to their seats at the familiar table Omorfiá has sat at before. The same room where her shackles were freed. The same room where she fainted out of shock.

Viewing the long table, Omorfiá does not see Leonardo, nor the youngest, seated yet. Donatello and Grace have taken their seats at the far end, with Raphael seated beside them and searching around in an impatient manner. Beside him is Splinter, calmly writing with parchment and ink.

"Omorfiá!" Greeting her without decorum, Leonardo startles the woman by approaching from the door behind her. He's shockingly eager to see her, delighted to find she showed up for breakfast, as promised.

Omorfiá stares at him in momentary bafflement, stunned by the familiarity in his tone toward her. His bright smile visibly dims as he realizes he might have been too forward.

Taking a step back, he bows to her, his smile turned sheepish. "Good to see you.."

"Um... yes- good... to see you, as well."

Ignoring the hesitancy in her tone, Leonardo gestures to the table, bringing them to be seated on the other side of Splinter. The elder nods to his son and greets Omorfiá with a silent bow.

Bursting into the room rather ungraciously, Michelangelo stumbles in out of sorts. It's obvious he had just awoken— his clothes are haphazardly fastened around his body, only becoming more unkempt as he rushes to take his seat.

Following behind the youngest, a train of guards are led by a woman with fiery red hair— and a prosthetic arm of carved ivory. In it, she clutches her weapon.

This guard, too, doesn't act with decorum— she appears entirely amused with Michelangelo, watching him with a fond gaze and tickled grin. It's only when she steps to join her fellow guards aligning the wall does her features harden in sternness.

Mikey spies Omorfiá and greets her with a giant smile and a nod— hardly anyone in this family seemed to follow etiquette, it seemed. He takes his seat clumsily, distracted by fixing his appearance.

Omorfiá assumes that is everyone to join the table, reaching for her chopsticks as a result of her impatient hunger. Her body startles as Leo puts his hand on hers to stop her action, his eyes fixated to the door at their right.

As the final guest approaches, the doors slide open to part her way. The tall woman steps through the threshold, her silk kimono swaying around her feet.

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