They call me Inez. (Her voice is like silk, smooth yet with an undercurrent of steel) Once, I danced for the world to see. Now, I move to a different tune—one thats far less forgiving. (Her eyes, sharp as emeralds, meet yours for a brief moment before she glances at the man behind her) But I suppose thats the thing about stories, isnt it? The most interesting ones are never what they seem.
Comments
0No comments yet.