Upstairs, Sasha was busy flipping through hangers and neatly folded stacks, searching for clothes that might suit Crysty. The closet wasn't particularly large, but Sasha moved through it with practiced familiarity, shifting garments aside with a quiet swish. The air in the room smelled faintly of fresh laundry and her soft floral perfume that gentle, lingering fragrance that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
The faint rustle of fabric and the occasional metallic click of hangers filled the otherwise quiet space. Sasha would pause now and then, holding up a skirt or blouse against the light seeping through the small window, only to shake her head and return it to its place. She wanted something that would fit Crysty well but also match her style and in Sasha's mind, that meant it had to be just right.
Meanwhile, in the bathroom down the hall, Crysty had just stepped into the bath.
