Bathing > Basking by the fireplace

One moment, Stephanie was trembling on the cold stone of the mountain, soaked and pleading. The next, she blinked.

Gone was the mountain air. Gone was the chill that had wormed its way into her bones. In its place: warmth. Glorious, radiant warmth that poured over her like honey.

She blinked again, breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t outside anymore. The moss-streaked steps and icy spring had vanished. Now, she was back inside the ancient library—a place of dust and whispers and aged stone. But this time, she wasn’t surrounded by rows of books or perched on a cracked bench. No, she was in one of the side chambers, in a room she hadn’t noticed before.

The walls were dark wood, paneled and carved with the same runic symbols etched in the bookshelves outside. Warm flag stones sat beneath her bare feet. And directly behind her, spanning nearly the entire wall, was a grand stone hearth, flames dancing wildly inside it.

She sat in front of the flames, the heat already warming her back. When she looked down—she gasped.

She was dressed.

Not only in the old robes but also still in the fur coat.

Her hair was dry now, fluffed and slightly frizzy from its time in the cold water, but no longer clinging wetly to her face. Even her glasses had been wiped clean, gleaming faintly in the firelight.

"...what just happened?" she whispered.

I answered quickly, my words appearing on the open book beside her.

"The prompt changed. 'Bathing' became 'Basking by the fireplace.'"

Stephanie stared at the page, then tilted her head back with a deep, relieved sigh. She practically melted into the chair.

"Finally," she murmured. "Finally something that doesn't feel like a cruel joke."

"You don't know how close you came." I typed.

"What do you mean?" She asked, nervously.

"One of the readers, they suggested taking away the coat..."

"Bastard." She muttered under her breath.

"That's not everything."

"Do I want to know?"

I thought about it for a moment, and decided not to tell her.

"No, I don't think you would."

I left her to relax in the heat for an hour. Letting her know I was back by asking.

"Feeling better?"

"Like night and day," she said, holding her hands out toward the fire. "I can actually feel my fingers again. And... thank you. Or, well, thank them, I guess."

She glanced at the book again, as if looking beyond it to the mysterious readers who had control over her fate. Her expression softened.

"Whoever did this... thanks. Seriously. This... this is better than anything I imagined."

"I did my best."

She gave a small, grateful chuckle.

Then, she sat in silence for a long moment. The fire crackled. The warmth seeped into her.

"I needed this," she admitted. "Not just the warmth. The... the moment to breathe. I thought I was going to lose it out there."

"You did great. And now you have a moment to rest."

"Yeah... but it won't last, will it?"

"Probably not."

She stared at the fire, the flickering flames reflected in her lenses.

"Then I better enjoy it while it does."

She curled her legs up into the chair, wrapped the wool blanket over her lap, and leaned her head to the side. Her curls brushed the worn velvet cushion. Her eyes fluttered closed.

For the first time in days, Stephanie basked in something that felt like peace.

The fireplace froze, the dancing light fillijg the space now still.

"Here we go again." She uttered, sarcastically. "Hey, readers... just... please be kind..."

Was all she could say before the chapter ended.

(Ginger, white, very curly messy hair, small breasts, tall, smart, magical glasses, robes, rebellious, rested, basking by the fireplace, fur coat)