She needed clothes. The rags stained with mud and dried semen from the Rogue were no good for a queen.

I arrived at the back of the single women's barracks. A clothesline swayed in the night breeze.

I smiled.

I moved forward quickly and silently. My hands scanned the hanging clothes. I discarded the loose dresses I used to wear to hide my body. I didn't want to hide anymore.

My fingers closed over a pair of tight black jeans and a scarlet red top. They were Sara's. I knew they'd be too small for her if she gained half a kilo, but they were perfect for me.

I undressed right there, under the trees. The cold air no longer bothered me. My skin burned from the inside out.

I pulled up my jeans. They clung to my wide hips like a second skin, accentuating the curve of my backside in a way that would have previously made me mortified. Now, as I felt the fabric tighten, I felt empowered.

I put on the top. The neckline was deep. My breasts pressed together, white and heavy, exposed almost obscen