The spacious London hall felt cold and hollow, despite the roaring fire crackling cheerfully in the large chimney. Outside, the early evening light was dying, replaced by the soft, ambient glow of the city filtering through the falling snow.
Bondita stood motionless before the tall window, wrapped tightly in a deep red saree and a thick shawl, her breath misting slightly on the cold glass. It had been a week since that chaotic night at the fair, and the memory, now crystal clear, was a constant, searing shame.

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