A War is Coming Prt 1

I sit quietly in the bedroom I was frog marched into some hours ago. The food tray some random Santo dumped in here for me untouched, as I’ve literally no appetite and I’m laid out on the bed, staring at the endless white ceiling of a room that probably cost more to decorate than they spent on the orphanage the whole time I was in it. Bored out of my mind, but since my explosion, nothing in the house is working. Nothing electronic, no lights at all, and they are working on rectifying it. I’m still not convinced I did this, but it all seems to point this way.

Apart from the boarded-up window and the now décor free shelves and such after they swept through, removing the carnage of smashed items, it’s pretty nice. Gold and cream with brown leather and opulent fabrics. It’s like a hotel boudoir in a five-star establishment and bigger than the entire lounge and kitchen at the rejects home.

The Santo’s always were one of the wealthiest