She dressed to be noticed, she felt to blend in was to sign her own death certificate, and while you could say her outfit was a costume, I wouldn’t say it to her face. Her heels clicked on the tile creating an echo that cascaded down the hallway, alerting everyone that she had graced them with her presence, even though there was no one there to notice. However, she acted as if all eyes were on her, strutting through the corridor as if it was packed to the brim and everyone was there just to watch her walk.
While she was a woman of style she did keep a bit of practicality, wearing fake leather leggings that allowed her full mobility. She wore her hair long down her back. While not necessarily functional, she liked the way this felt. It helped her blend into the role, she looked like someone who demanded respect.
She reached the last door to the hallway; it was nicer than everyone else’s leading her to believe the owner had money and quite a bit of it. She let herself in, not bothering to warn the owner of her arrival.
When she walked in, a man was sitting at the desk, feet propped up and a crystal glass in his hand that still contained a few drops of whiskey. He was twisting his wrist, looking at it and promptly finished it off at my
“Ah, you’re finally here to kill me,” he said, taking his feet off his desk and standing. He adjusted his sport coat and looked at her for the first time since she walked in, “well, get on with it then.”
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