She's wearing a gypsy-style floor length dress with slits at the side that go up to her thighs, and I wonder if she knows how her hips sway beneath it...when she walks. She won't return my eye contact while her grandfather is here, I know her too well now to think she would do anything she thought of as too bold. She likes keeping us a secret, she tells me sometimes, because it's all the more exciting. And I have to agree with her when her grandfather comes in to do a few jobs behind the bar;. ‘No, cruel Winter winds, please! I must outrun Ugly.’ The winds had less wisdom than she, or her mother who had passed before her. They were merely winds, and so they blew, and blew, and as the night grew colder, Nausea Mundane froze running. It was three weeks later that a caravan of gypsies passing through the icy highways came upon her. She was as an ice statue would be, a beautiful shade of blue frozen over a hideous face that should have been a mask for All Hallows Eve. ‘Stop!’ A beautiful. More

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