You used to love the fairytales , but it was the cold you were afraid of. Sharp cold shivers as you uncovered the cold body of little red riding hood's granny , sweeter trembles when the snow white awoke from the prince's kiss over her own pale and...
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The lack of discomfort jolts her from her sleep , there are sheets , silk sheets , brushing the rough surface of her skin , like softened air and unpleasant chemical combination of vodka and self pity no longer exists. The excessive luxurious bed is so large in width and length that she cannot reach the end of the mattress.
Her eyes snap open , and the room she finds herself in-for the lack of a better word is glamorous. She has been to multiple hotels with Ace , multiple suites , gold laced furniture and the most expensive , captivating constructions. But this is , this is sleek. This is not a show of oodles of wealth like it was in Moscow , this in the face of poser is indifferent , this does not boast riches , it confirms it .
This is vast , polished black and white in its entirety. The floor is marbleized flickered with veins of dark silver , and the furniture minimal , all sharp and simple. The sheets fall around her like charcoal folds , and awe-inspiring floor-to-ceiling rectangle of smooth leather.
She looks up and , what a ceiling it is.
Technically speaking , its glass , a mirror , no plaster only glass-a continuous hinge less sheet of glass reflecting her own reflection and the dark sky. She sits up and continues to observe the minimalistic furniture. One of the four walls is replaced by a frameless window.
He is not here.
With an alarming rate , she gets up , a little too suddenly and the room sways slightly. Looking down at herself , she is dressed in an oversized button down shirt. Black and almost silky she says a silent prayer to a higher power as her inner wears are intact , subconsciously her hands fly to her hair-they are tied into a low pony tail and no longer a birds nest.
Brushed , they are brushed.
The looking up she observes her reflection , the kohl smudged is now nothing more than a clean eyes , the waxy streaks of her lipstick that was earlier smeared , a result of aggressive wiping of remnants of vodka earlier on. It was gone , her sterile lips curve into a frown.
When she opens the door , she does not see anything , no business men , no criminals, not him. It is just vast , luxurious sleekness with tapered glass for walls.
There is no one there , but her eyes stop at a laptop casually sitting on a table , apathetic to its power. It's not just any laptop; this is known , in the hacking world as a pinnacle of intelligence extraction. Its powerful , incredibly powerful , so powerful that it can topple governments in space of minutes , if used correctly. If she wanted one , she'd have to invest all her life savings in this one piece of equipment. She knows that this particular model is worth more than three years of rent , only a limited number have been made , and one of them is sitting right there in his penthouse.
It's open and running, she looks around the room , uncertain. This has to belong to him , and there must be a reason its unattended. She takes in the screen ; its displaying a camera footage of a very familiar place. The extravagant pillars , the gold , the casino tables and the and the symbols of a non-English language.
