Dazzling sunlight spilled into the room. Betty slowly turned over, her long lashes gradually parting. The mottled, brilliant light made her squint unconsciously, and a moment later, the room's furnishings came into view.
It was a tastefully decorated apartment. A mug of cold black tea sat by the bed. Two handcrafted rattan chairs stood in the corner, with several books stacked on a small table beside them. There was also a crystal ashtray shaped like a castle, with a Latin motto engraved on its base: Be decisive in action, gentle in manner.
Looking up, she saw pale blue wallpaper on the ceiling, painted with a whale leaping from the sea and scattering a spray of white foam. The brushwork was childish but full of charm, and Betty could not help recalling her childhood. Her mother had not yet passed away, her father had not yet become a stern, powerful general, and the family of three had lived happily at a desert base in New Mexico.
A breeze drifted through the room, making the brass wind chimes hanging by the window sway and clink crisply. Betty clutched a corner of the warm quilt as her hazy consciousness gradually cleared. She looked down at the loose, comfortable nightgown she was wearing and tried hard to remember what had happened last night—and where was this?
The room was silent. Betty sat bolt upright, stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet, and sat before the dressing-table mirror. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the loose nightgown could not hide her full breasts, revealing a sliver of smooth, snowy skin. Her delicate face looked rather lost.
A faint dizziness lingered in her head, and Betty could not help rubbing her brow. Then she suddenly heard a small sound outside the door. A gentle voice