Chapter seven
“Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate;
Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.”—Euripides.
{couple months back}
The thumps of her shoed feet preceded her as she coursed through the narrow hallway, evenly tilting her feather-weight build from one dainty leg to another. She looked more or less like someone brought forth from an ad—in her black, designer leathered pants and jacket. Her black luxuriant hair fanned out across her face with each precise and graceful step.
But that was where all the fairness and elegance ended, as there was something apparently dark and wild about her. Perhaps, it’s something with her eyes; darker than night itself, and also cavernous that it seemed to hold a thousand worth of grim secrets. Or maybe, it has something to do with her stra
