The day dawned in silence.

I was sitting at the window of the room that had been mine for the past seven days, wrapped in a sheet, my body still marked by invisible touches, my hair loose over my bare shoulders. The wineglass in my hand trembled slightly, though I didn't know if it was from the cold or from doubt.

Seven nights. Seven permissions. Seven versions of myself being revealed, breaking apart, being rebuilt. Athos had been the guide, but the road, I realized, had been entirely my ...