Street lights flickered against the thick dark smog engulfing the city. Mystique was heading home. Her neon heels struck the cracked concrete violently, struggling to cope with her inebriated swagger. Her real name was Clare – Clare Trent – she was thirty–two, pretending she was twenty–three; a lie that was starting to show.
It was a cool July night, but she"d been working hard and the sticky Autumn breeze helped relieve her aching shoulders. She carried her coat over her arm, not caring that her sequined costume underneath left nothing to the imagination. To hell with what anyone thought – that had always been her motto. Sure she was a p********e, but she wasn"t one of those girls standing on the street corners paying off a habit that was never going to go away. Clare worked at Lulu"s. S
