She expected everything.
All things consumable, gifted upon silver platters. Nothing else mattered you see, except around, and exactly where she be. It was her spot of Rome. It was her comfort zone. No support would be given outside of her smudgy lines that begrudgingly striped those walls. This man, that man, those people... She took their time and pocketed what she needed. A well oiled vacuum. Sucking ferociously. Ah, there was only room for one. Her feet sat prim and proper as her judgments flung themselves on the floor. "It's my age that will show you to the door" she'd say. No one dared ruffle her feathers. Those freshly shined, pointy-shoed feet never stepped outside of her comfort zone.
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AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |