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Mark A Morris
1/26/2019 07:13:07 am
She’d been The Bride for a whole season. The photos from her wedding portfolio had graced the covers of all the industry magazines. She’d been photographed in stately homes, in down-at-heel Soho bars, and one time underwater, the chlorine’s chemical taint impregnating her hair and her body. Denise had told her it’d changed the flavour of her skin, a base note which had refused to be hidden.
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1/26/2019 07:16:16 am
I sensed someone behind me. I wanted to ignore whoever it was, but the sensation continued and wouldn’t release me. I turned, and saw her. She was beautiful. Thick, dark, glossy hair fell loosely on to her shoulders. Her pale, porcelain face served to emphasise the bold slash of crimson on her lips. Those piercing eyes could probably penetrate steel at fifty yards. She was dressed entirely in black, even to the lace gloves on her hands. But why was she staring at me, as though she knew me? I stood still. Let’s see if she was brave enough to approach. She was.
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1/26/2019 08:12:52 am
It was always her eyes that got me. Always. I couldn’t stay mad at her for very long. They’d tear up. Crinkle with joy. Excite…Beg. I almost couldn’t go through with it.
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A place to enjoy some of the writing done by members of The Nu Romantics Facebook Group. Join our group here! Archives
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