Lion Head Mesa and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing for untimely death or demise

Aquillius had come to a conclusion in his first week spent in the Mesa.

He did not like being touched.

The fellahin who bathed him would find him stiff and almost flinching from their touch. Recoiling as if they meant to bring him pain. Really, he just didn’t quite enjoy the sensation touch gave. Like burning metal had dashed across his skin, flaying him open to some unforeseen core he did not wish to interpret.

They also, it felt like, rearranged his bedchambers every day until he was never quite sure what to expect when he dragged himself home. The intimacy of someone else inside the place he had claimed made him feel like he would shake apart. It wasn’t right. He must be doing something wrong if they continued to come in and change things.

Which was the reality he was dealing with now. Staring at the bed of furs, noting it had changed, but too tired to do more than half heartedly glare at it like it had personally wronged him.