By Aaron Majewski
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The room seemingly glowed softly, a warm fitful glimmering which chased shadows back to the fancifully wallpapered walls, the oil lamps giving the darkness a warmth and a softness which made it comforting, rather than forbidding. The honeyed light burnished her hair with a tinting of bronze that set her brunette locks alight with zest. To the east, a reddish haze crept in through the giant ocular window, the sun stealing into her boudoir as songbirds trilled outside the pane, capering, Sarah knew with a smile, along the spreading branches of the oak sapling her beloved planted just by the wall.
Her bed, dominating the middle of the room, had already been made up, Sarah though was still in her silken nightdress, a shimmering silk the chromatic of a wet peach which her husband had brought back for her from a trip abroad, to what once had been the great and mighty Ottoman Empire. She sat on her plush divine before her vanity, softly stroking her favorite brush through her glimmering, shoulder length tresses. Sarah completely ignored the faint tracing of lines around her eyes, the tiny moues at the corners of her plump lips. She was far too self confident to worry about the simple signs of being over thirty, and her skill with blush and powder would erase them before she went anywhere in any case.
A confident knock drummed against her rosewood door.