Chapter 3Donned in an elegant smoky-rose gown of peau de soie, festooned with swags of black fringe and an off-the-shoulder ruffled bertha of Chantilly lace that advertised her plump and perky breasts, Desdra Von Cleef sauntered onto the columned front porch of Raven’s Peak. She had brushed back her hair, binding the lengthy black tresses with a rose-colored ribbon, and had blended the tiniest amount of beet juice mixed with powder into her ivory cheeks. From experience, she knew she looked as youthful as a woman in her mid-twenties, despite the fact that she had recently celebrated her one-hundred-and-fortieth year on Earth.
A crisp and fickle breeze whispered over her face, carrying the chill of impending winter. Stars blinked in the heavens as the nitid moon sailed past its zenith. Des
