Martha sat alone in the cold attic room of the Delord house. Her cheeks were wet with tears and wispy strands of her chocolate-brown hair stuck infuriatingly to her hot face. She couldn’t tuck them out of the way – couldn’t even reach up to her face – for her hands were cuffed tightly and secured to a bolt in the wall. All she could do was rub her cheeks – first one, then the other – against the stiff, starched sleeves of her uniform. The floor was ice cold beneath her, especially against her legs where the skirt of the uniform ended; her stockings were no protection against the freezing concrete, which seems more like the floor of a mausoleum than that of an attic. She rubbed her legs together to generate some warmth, then shivered terribly and looked up at the tiny window above her. Any minute now, Thomas would be on his way to the church, on his way to meet her. Elizabeth.
She had dirty blonde hair all matted and knotty, her skin of a pastel colour with her flushed cheeks and big plumped lips. Out in the back of the garden, behind a bush, was a secret location in which no one knew of. This is where Lola’s and Thomas would discretely encounter every Thursday night when Synthia and Walter would leave the house. This was the day both Thomas and Lola looked forward to all week. All they would do is sit and talk. The weeks past, Lola’s still felt her strong passion for Thomas, and he still had no clue. Until one week, Thomas expressed his feeling he had been developing towards Lola, while then she explained the feelings she had, for a long time. As the weeks passed Lola and Thomas started developing a relationship.
Martha sat alone in the cold attic room of the Delord house. Her cheeks were wet with tears and wispy strands of her chocolate-brown hair stuck infuriatingly to her hot face. She