The only item of clothing that Solace and Rosanna could agree upon were shoes. They shared a passion for footwear and favored the same style—comfort...ble but decent enough to wear to work. To that end, they had prowled many a shoe store in search of the perfect footwear. Her smile faded as she wondered why Rosanna had requested this meeting. Hadn’t they settled everything? She could have just as easily called or e-mailed her. Couldn’t she? If Sanna was nothing else, she was proper and could be. Fingertip flicked the smoldering cigarette, ash drifted downward in a powerless spiral, and a purse of thin scarlet stained lips drew on its end, flaring the ember’s burn at its tip for a moment, before it returned to its weak and faded glow. Dark strands of pitch hung limply against her face, oily tendrils clinging to her brow. Hollowed cheeks, gaunt frame spoke of iron control and wild helplessness, the faint taste of bile lingered at the back of her throat. Beauty was fickle, the slender. More

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