She raises her hand to feel my cheek, then freezes when I grab her wrist in a crushing grip. She is trembling from head to toe as I glare intently at ...er, silently menacing. I pull her hand down to her side and then gently reaches for her face. Mina wants to pull away, the look I give her stops her cold. She stands stonily still while I stroke her check, fire hot with lust. My touch is soothing and her mind tumbles at the conflict. My hand moves lower and she tenses as I put the full weight of. Good, that's their normal color. Maybe we could start talking, soon. I like talking with the lines, but the men usually come shortly after I start to. I forgot how far apart my feet were. The cold air can be felt everywhere not covered by the straight jacket or high heels. That was all I was allowed to wear, though the lines usually offered me coats and pants and hats and scarves and robes and hot coffee and turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and apple pie. But I get food from the men if I do. More

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