by D.M. Burdett She dances for him; en pointe, lightly skimming the dark wood of the tabletop. “Enchanting, Number Eight,” he whispers huskily. He watches from the shadows, hooded eyes black as a starless night, dark hair falling across his face. Assemblé…changement…petit battement. A final jerky chaînés, then she is still. Eyes closed, she […]
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