Maggie’s mother had passed away several years before the war. Maggie ran a brush through her fair locks and secured them at the nape of her neck in ... bun. Her dress was somewhat out of fashion, but suitable for working at home or the hospital. Her bountiful curves strained the worn fabric but her beauty was timeless, and, as her father had told her many times, would probably remain so. She was the mirror image of her mother, who had been a raving beauty even at two score and ten. The day was. I brushed it off as imagination. After some time again I heard some sounds (more clear). This aroused my suspicions. I went behind and tried the door, which was also locked. Then I took the external staircase and climbed up. The terrace door was closed but not bolted. I tiptoed in and went down cautiously. I was in for a series of mind shattering shocks, which altered my lifestyle completely forever. I reached the dining hall, which faces one of the bedrooms. The scene unfolding in front of me. More

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