While she listened for the blare of sirens, slamming car doors and hurried footsteps on the path, she allowed herself the luxury of a glass of wine: white wine, an extravagant purchase for a special occasion. Glancing at the clock, she speculated on how much longer she would have to wait.
Daylight was fading. Shadows filled the room as one by one the street lamps came on. She adjusted her position, stretching her legs in front of her, mentally bridging the years. Past scenarios spun chaotically as she reminisced, but her stoical appraisal was soon disrupted by an insistent knocking at the door. It was time to be taken into custody, to be slung without question into filthy, black dungeons, clammy, like the shelters in the field, where her body would rot and her mind would shrivel.
~~~~~
Question: what is it?
Answer: it's the prologue to one of my books
