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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: lights are on - tom rosenthal
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The next day unfolded in the opulence of a posh hotel room, a stark contrast to the gritty reality of the life Marianna Doe James had once known in Birmingham. The morning light spilled through the curtains, casting a gentle glow that stirred her from a restless sleep.
Adorned in an ivory night dress, her short bob cut framed her features, a testament to the metamorphosis she had undergone since leaving Small Heath. She sat up, a silhouette against the luxurious backdrop of the room, her gaze fixed on the world outside the window.
With a refinement that transcended the mundane, she reached for the bedside table, where an all-too-familiar silver pocket watch lay. She held it in her hand, her fingers tracing the contours of its polished surface, a silent communion with the past.
Standing, Mar draped herself in a robe, the fabric cascading around her like a protective shroud. Her reflection in the window merged with the cityscape below—a juxtaposition of the familiar streets of Birmingham against the newfound sophistication that surrounded her.
As she gazed out, a myriad of emotions played across her features. The city held memories, both cherished and haunting, and in that moment, Mar found herself at the intersection of the past and the uncertain future.
The shrill ring of the telephone though, pierced the quietude of the hotel room, jolting her into awareness. With a deliberate motion, she reached for the receiver.
"Hello?" Mar's voice, a measured blend of composure and curiosity.
"Apologies for the disturbance, Miss James. There's a lady waiting for you in the lobby. Says she's the Duchess Tatiana. Shall I send her up?" A clerk's voice crackled on the other end, polite and deferential.
Mar's eyes narrowed slightly, a reflection of the events that transpired the night before. The mention of Tatiana sent ripples of tension through her, but she masked it well.
"Yes, send her up. And have some breakfast brought in, please."
Instantly, her nimble fingers worked swiftly, securing the ivory robe around her body with a determined knot. With purposeful strides, she approached the mirror, the porcelain basin below held cool water, and Mar dipped her hands into it, splashing droplets onto her face. The brisk touch of the water served as a wake-up call. A quick comb through her short-bobbed hair brought a touch of order to the strands.
