Alpha Thomas
I pulled my nails from the wall and stepped closer to get a better look at Aurora.
Madame Aurora leaned in, her face catching a brief glimmer of light. Her hair, gray like a winter sky, flowed past her shoulders. Eyes as dark as night watched her intently, like an owl. The deep lines etched into her face suggested she was in her late eighties, and clearly, she had never heard of Botox.
The Gitana chuckled, almost as if she could read my mind. “You,” she said, pointing at me. “What brings you to our fair? You don’t seem to be having much fun.”
Bab Populer