POV Carmelia
I stood motionless before the grand, ulin-framed mirror in the master suite. Outside the tall windows, the Kalimantan rain had begun to fall—not as a drizzle, but as a heavy, liquid curtain that seemed intent on severing Manor van der Pijl from the rest of human civilization. I stared at the woman in the mirror, and for a heartbeat, I felt as if I were looking at a stranger who had trespassed into my own skin.
My name was Carmelia van der Pijl. Once, that name was a fortress. It was the symbol of a frigid, rigid, and untouchable line of Leiden aristocrats. But this morning, that fortress had utterly collapsed. My blue passport lay on the vanity table like the carcass of a civilization that no longer held any meaning. In the glass, there was no longer the woman in the stif
