39 – Whirlwind

Arshan Yo.

Arshan. Fucking. Yo.

Magnolia fidgeted with her dress while they waited for the limousine. It wasn’t late, they were early. Even if it wasn’t a combat situation, it paid to be early. The dress was simple, something she’d copied, not something she’d put together herself. Plain, short, no frills or lace or other frivolities. Nothing to make it look as though she’d tried to be a designer. In the face of Yo, pretending to be a designer would be tantamount to blasphemy.

Arshan Yo.

Arshan. Fucking. Yo. Continue reading “39 – Whirlwind”