I shivered and gasped when a damp cloth touched my cheek. My skin felt too raw, too sensitive. But Oaken’s touch was so delicate, so careful, so kind. The tenderest of ministrations. Thoroughly, he cleaned my face, taking care around stinging scratches I hadn’t even known were there. He gently drew the cloth along my lips, my cheeks, my ears. Down my throat to my collarbones. He cleaned each one of my fingers, then traced the lines of my palms.
