Chapter Fifteen
Delila: The lace scarf on my dresser is so white. I found it almost blinding after all the colors of my world had been muted to hues devised in the depths of the earth, the carnal shades of moss and mauve, the yellow golden glows of summer’s end, and the burnt tones of September.
White, like the satin of my wedding dress. White, like purity of the soul, and vows of fidelity and trust. I touched the fabric in awe of it, afraid that it would turn to the colors of my passions if I were to hold it. I was afraid that my touch would soil the white, as surely as my life had been soiled.
“I tried not to change anything, Delila,” Armand told her, seeing her look about their bedroom. Her eyes were in a state of shock from the moment he picked her up from the train station and bro
