“So, you are Madame Duvalier.” After a night of sneers and jibes, and cruel mocking declarations, this voice sounded quite sane.
Renee looked up, staring into the face of another soldier, like the others dressed in khaki. This had no mustache, no facial hair at all. His hair was short, closely clipped to the side of his face, that face oddly capable of more expression than most of the men’s’ below.
“I believe I’m just a slave now,” she answered him.
“My slave for the night.” He looked around at the flower papered walls, the thick cushion of downy comforter on the bed and the fine porcelain figurines that gave away the woman’s wealth. “This was your bedroom?”
“It was.”
“And now you’re ruined,” he stated flatly.
“Are you taking pleasure in mocking me?”
“No, I’m just amazed. That any
