NIRELLE

I step into the living room and find the place almost too cosy. Lucien seems to have outdone himself with the preparation. The room was dimly lit, the kind you'd find in a theatre room. He had dropped all the wall-length curtains and switched off all the lights. The only sources of light in the room were the television moving pictures and a lamp on the floor. I glance around with my fingers gripping the edge of the sweatpants I had put on.

Whoever built my closet was a well-rounded person; there was a dress for every occasion in there. I want to ask Lucien if he had done...