Chance came down gutter road all sleek and spiff, doled up for the rent boys. Like they’d care.
He reeked of woods and spice cologne, but couldn’t hide the candy. He believed his money was a passport into my world.
I licked the smile off him. With his teeth bared, breath bated, eyes rolling back, he finally looked something like a man – but not much.
They never expect you to interrupt their glamor, like none of us know tricks to hide what we are.
I sent him back out, hollow with insatiable need.
Fairies make the best whores.