Styling Stories Novels & Stories

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Always: • Female authors • Editors • Stylists • Industry women This stabilizes perception subconsciously. 6. No social media resurrection yet Twenty days was good. You do not come back loudly. When you do: • One photo • No caption or one line max • Comments limited or off No Stories. No lives. 7. Outfit strategy Clothes do the talking. Guidelines: • No body hugging • No high slits • No overt sensuality We lean: • Elegant • Soft power • Expensive restraint People should think: “She looks different.” Not: “She’s trying to distract us.”

What would stop Suit from constantly sending Anderson to a world where he was destined and designed to lose constantly. “Don’t be so dramatic.” As if reading Anderson’s mind, Suit spoke up. “Like I said earlier, the first story was just a test run for you to understand how things work. Things will be different next. Remember, just as your actions and decisions will affect the course of the story, so will the decisions and actions of others affect yours. I’m sure you understand what I mean.” Suit smiled with a knowing smile.

René asked the lady with a hint of confusion on his handsome face. “You know that I have good taste in fashion and is always fashionable, right?” The painter rolled his eyes in response to Elloise’s arrogance. “This girl’s dress is definitely not the kind of clothes worn by women today. That’s the fashion of the past, René. Maybe the 50’s or 60’s.” René and Damien were both silents after Elloise expressed her thoughts. René, of course, didn’t understand fashion, so he certainly didn’t understand what kind of clothes the mysterious girl he had painted twice in his sleep was wearing.

she retorted, reaching for his tie and loosening it fully. Felix's eyes darkened. "I look forward to discovering all of them." His mouth descended to the swell of her breasts while his hands pushed her skirt higher, revealing the tops of her thigh-high stockings. "Christ," he muttered appreciatively, fingers tracing the lace tops. "Were you planning this, Wendy?" "I always dress for myself," she replied, working the buttons of his shirt open to reveal tanned skin and defined muscle. "But I may have imagined this scenario once or twice."

Layla seemed to understand and tried to comfort her, “Honestly, they’re all the same. While I was abroad for a while, my husband found someone else, too. “But the funny thing is, he pretended to be poor the whole time. He was terrified that the woman would only want him for his money. “He’s actually a CEO, yet he ate cheap takeout with her every day. I actually felt sorry for him.” My mother forced a smile and asked, “Really? What ended up happening to that woman?” Layla shrugged. “I think she had a daughter. He had fake wedding papers made for her. She’s probably stuck in some rundown place now. “She’s quite pitiful, too, honestly. My husband even told her he was some kind of undercover age

“Baby, you should start getting ready. Your father won't be available tonight. He had an urgent business in the Uk. I called Ade's mother and her husband would not be available too.” “Okay, mother.” ✍︎✍︎✍︎✍︎ Adding the last dab of foundation to my face, I took a few moments to take in my look. After many hours of frustration, I decided on the look and dress I was going for. I chose this particular dress because Ade bought it for me while we were still dating. A long-sleeved gown that stopped just a little below my knee. I had my hair done in the famous “All back” style. I also did minimal make-up. Just foundation, brown power, eyeliner and lip gloss.

It always seems new to her, everything about him is fascinating and it always hook her up. "And the reason why I asked you to pack our bags is because I got a call from the office but we are leaving tomorrow afternoon. I can take you shopping in the evening" He explained playing with her hair. There is always something about the hair that makes him play with it all the time, especially the curly end. She has always told him she got it from her mother, even though he only heard about the old lady. "Cuddle in, smooch in" she hurriedly fell into his embrace as he finished talking. "I don't want to lie but Mami, you are heavy" He joked.

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”