I sit quietly in the bedroom I was frogmarched into a few hours ago. The food tray some random Santo dumped in here for me untouched, as I’ve literally no appetite, and I’m lying on the bed staring at the endless white ceiling of a room that probably cost more to decorate than they spent on the orphanage the whole time I was there. Bored out of my mind, but since my explosion, nothing in the house is working. Nothing electronic, no lights at all, and they are working on rectifying it. I’m still not convinced I did this, but it all seems to point that way.
Apart from the boarded-up window and the now décor free shelves after they swept through, removing the c*****e of smashed items, it’s pretty nice. Gold and cream with brown leather and opulent fabrics. It’s like a hotel boudoir in
