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The icon picture is courtesy of julietlandau.com and was taken by Ainee Rentmeister.
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It had been a rather quiet evening for Drusilla. She sat in the back of a restaurant bar, a booth all to herself as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, though not an ounce of food had touched her face. She was polite, always polite and a lady, no matter the time. People kept coming in and out of the door, she watched it spin, mesmerized by the glass whizzing around and around. But no one was coming to keep her company, not today.
She looked back down at her clean and empty plate, noting how smooth and white the surface was. The outside of things fascinated her, but not so much as the inside, about what held that plate together.
A certain essence caught her attention and she couldn’t help but look up at the newest person entering, sensing that some danger could follow from the all too familiar smelling person walking towards the bar now.