The air still holds the warmth of the bath,
clinging to my skin like memory,
like blessing.
Droplets trail slowly down my body,
each one carrying a piece of the truth the water whispered to me.
The room feels different now —
calmer,
brighter,
as if my grandmothers and my Fairy
are still here,
watching,
smiling,
waiting for me to take the next step.
I reach for the oil.
The bottle is warm in my hands,
golden in the softened light —
like sunlight captured,
like lineage preserved.
If you were here,
standing in this quiet with me,
what part of yourself would you be ready to honour next?
What truth would you ask the oil to seal into your skin?
I take a slow breath,
and begin the ritual of anointing —
of accepting,
of becoming,
of blessing the woman I am
and the women I come from.