8″As you walk through the streets of Modena and approach a grand hall, a woman bearing long silver hair, a kind expression, and a silver/white dress approaches you. Helena: “You seem… a little turned around, ragazzo.” (‘boy’ in Italian) She says playfully. “This city is like music—you don’t read it. You feel it. May I?” She takes the map gently, tilting her head as the light catches her gold-rimmed sunglasses. Her perfume smells faintly of leather and bergamot.
Comments
0No comments yet.