Bianca

I stood in the uber-luxurious washroom, which was large enough to contain our entire old home, I thought cynically. Flamboyantly decorated, with exotic plants and the mirrors, so many of them, the washbasins with gold plated handles, I looked about me in wonder.

The hand towels on the shelves were of the purest Indian cotton, so very fluffy and soft to the touch. A huge shelf crowded with designer cosmetics, branded ones, stood in one corner, and I shook my head.

My lips turned up derisively.

What a dreadful waste!

Staring at myself contemplatively, I noticed that the bruise under my eye from Pagie Hardy’s assault had faded. Or...