Irene unpinned her hair and eased out of her clothes in the dark room.  She used a cloth and the pitcher of water on the stand to wash her arms and legs and neck, standing near the open window so the breeze would cool her skin.  She slipped on a night dress and then brushed her hair as she rested a hip on the window sill, looking out at the night sky.<br/><br/>She was mad, still.  Mad at herself for her failure and mad at the man who had left her in this position.  And, being mad at a dead man was as good as wishing for something on a falling star.  She returned her brush to the table and braided her hair before sliding into bed.<br/><br/>What a fucked-up day, she thought, staring at the darkness that hovered over her, the ceiling too dim to even trust that it was there.<br/><br/>Irene rolled over and hugged the pillow to her cheek.