With slow, halting steps, Emily Bowen Quartermaine ascended the mansion's spiral staircase that led to the vast yet tastefully decorated space known as her bedroom.
Upon entering the darkened suite Emily decided to forego turning up the lights; instead, she allowed the beautifully muted glow of the night's full moon that shone through the parted curtains to guide her way towards her mammoth bed.
All she wanted at that very moment was to appreciate the "cutting-edge technology" and "exquisite craftsmanship" of her state-of-the-art bedding. And so it was with nary a trace of drama or flourish, she flung her lanky yet shapely frame atop the bed's plush wine-colored comforter.
It was an act she immediately regretted as nearly every nerve ending in her body commenced to howl in protest.
