Marissa had just finished her bath, the warm, lavender-scented steam a soothing balm after the day's activities.
She stood before the tall, silver-framed mirror, naked, drying herself. Her long, dark hair was damp, unbound, and curling in the humid air. Her nightgown, a simple, modest creation of pale, cream-colored silk, was laid out on the bed, waiting. She was at her most vulnerable, her guard completely down, her mind at peace.
She slowly began to change into her night wear, her movements unhurried. She pulled on her simple, pale cream colored silk nightgown, the fabric cool and smooth against her warm skin. She was about to reach for her robe when she heard it.
It was not a knock. It was a heavy, desperate fumble at her doorknob, followed by a loud, splintering thud, as if a heavy weight had just been thrown against the solid oak.
