Raven's Kiss
“What fitting?”
I must look genuinely lost because she tilts her head slightly like she’s wondering if I hit my head somewhere between breakfast and now.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“Please follow me downstairs,” she repeats with a tiny bow before turning.
I follow slowly, still trying to figure out who exactly in this house decided I needed ‘fitting’. When I reach the living room, I freeze.
It looks like a luxury boutique exploded.
Clothing racks—scores of them—form aisles across the room. Shoes sit displayed like museum pieces. Bags, jewelry sets, wigs, hair extensions, boxes stacked on boxes. The living room is fully transformed into a high-fashion showroom.
Bab Populer