LAST CANTO

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IDEOA powdery creamy sober shape . To see the woman beyond the surface . Modern Grace He casually opened the door for her. She slowed down, took a deep breath and walked shyly into the woody floor of the majestic ballroom of St Petersburg’s Grand Palace. The orchestra was playing Tchaikovski. The lights beaming from the gigantic chandelier, reflected in the endless mirrors. He held her hand and started to dance and dance she did. With every spin of her creamy dress, more heads turned. She was the ultimate charm. He felt like a king. Soon, her sensual spicy scent had gotten to him. She turned left, he followed. She went right, he turned. She smiled at the other men and flirted with the women. The king was now just a courtesan. She challenged him to a Russian roulette. He smiled shyly. She took out a gun from her bag and dared him to play. He never wanted her so bad Show more