THE SOUND CRASHED into her consciousness, startling her. The insistent, persistent knock set her teeth on edge.
Struggling, she tried to open her heavy, unwilling eyes.
If she didn’t know better, she would have thought this wasn’t her own bedroom. Her very own oasis of calm and serenity, decorated, of course, in the many hues of her favourite colour. It’s funny how some people don’t think of red as a restful colour. She did.
Ruby reds, poppy reds, soft petal reds, the whole palette; she loved them. Nothing made her feel better than relaxing in a personal sea of glorious red. The colour of sunsets, roses and lipstick. Surely, also, the colour of love, and all that is good.
She squinted and peered, finally making out the long, hovering shadow…
