Grace Marks III

She could still feel it, about as confused as a Victorian woman being told sexual frustration was hysteria. The rush of it all, being ushered into a quiet room. Christian had sat opposite, a camera staring her in the face, his blonde, cropped hair blending in with the pale wall as she stared into a steadily-flashing red light. He smiled an encouraging smile, aged face creasing from the weight of it. And those dark brown eyes that looked like tiny weights were hanging from the outer corners stared. “Tell the camera what you told me.” He had instructed, sunk back in a plastic school chair with a small smile far too satisfied for her liking. But he had only half a mind for it.

Blue fidgeted in her seat. Maybe going with the dress would have been a better decision. Though a lot less comfortable. She’d been sweating excessively per pregnancy. The last thing she needed was armpit stains.

She’d gone with a green plaid tube top. Straple