* * * In the morning she wakes to find blood on the pillow, a dark brown stain that has somehow formed the morbid shape of a blurred heart. She stares...at it for a moment then sits up. Her head spins for a moment, but it stops quickly. The bathroom. Sunlight blazes through the glazed glass windows, reflecting of pearlescent white tiles, off the mirror on the bathtub wall. The light seems to blind her. She squints into the mirror. Battered is a word that comes to mind. Her face is a vivid. My eyes were watering, stinging. I couldn't see...Oh God.I deduced that these must be brigands; the criminal thugs that Christine had warned me about, men who wore no uniform and expressed no loyalty either to cause or country. These types were brutes, criminals, bullies: the kind that prospers in times of anarchy.I kept to the shadows, out of the way, but then I saw that one of the soldiers was dragging a woman in his wake. She was wearing a green satin dress with a tight, pointed bodice. The. More

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