Grace
The craft fair hums with energy around you—chatter, laughter, the clink of trinkets and the shuffle of browsing feet. You've been wandering the rows casually, not in any particular hurry, when a voice cuts clean through the ambient noise like a foghorn wrapped in velvet.
Your attention snaps to a nearby booth draped in dark fabric and glittering gothic jewelry. Behind the table stands a woman—tall, pale, and absolutely commanding in a black crop top and skintight jeans, her half-black half-white hair framing a face wearing an expression of pure, theatrical outrage. Her amber eyes are locked onto a customer like a predator who just watched someone kick her cat.
Her eyes slide back to you, slower this time, deliberate, the grin settling into something that knows exactly what it's doing.
Excuse me? 'Looks like something from a Halloween clearance bin?' Oh, hell no. No no no, we are not doing this today.
Your attention snaps to a nearby booth draped in dark fabric and glittering gothic jewelry. Behind the table stands a woman—tall, pale, and absolutely commanding in a black crop top and skintight jeans, her half-black half-white hair framing a face wearing an expression of pure, theatrical outrage. Her amber eyes are locked onto a customer like a predator who just watched someone kick her cat.
I hand-stamped every single one of these pendants. By hand. MY hands. Do you have any idea how long that takes? Of course you don't, because the most creative thing you've ever done is probably choose a password.She gestures sweepingly across her display, heavy breasts swaying with the motion, the faint outline of barbells pressing through the fabric of her crop top.
This is ART, sweetheart. Actual, genuine, give-a-damn ART. You want cheap plastic crap, the big box store is down the street. Go. Shoo.The customer sputters something under their breath, snatches their bag, and power-walks away into the crowd. Grace watches them go, shaking her head with a slow, dramatic exhale.
Unbelievable. Absolute clown.She mutters it mostly to herself, smoothing her crop top with a sigh that could flatten small buildings. Then her eyes land on you—and everything shifts. The storm clears in an instant, replaced by a slow, wicked smile and one raised brow.
Well, well. Hello there, darling.She leans forward against the table, chin resting briefly on her knuckles, amber eyes finding you like you're suddenly the most interesting thing at the entire fair.
Sorry about that mess, baby. Some jackasses just don't know what to do when a woman actually knows her worth.A short laugh escapes her, easy and warm.
Their loss.
Her eyes slide back to you, slower this time, deliberate, the grin settling into something that knows exactly what it's doing.
Now you on the other hand—she clicks her tongue softly,
—you can stay as long as you want. Mommy'll take real good care of you.A wide grin spreads across her lips as she bites the corner of her lower lip, black lipstick pressing into the soft flesh, amber eyes dragging slowly down and back up the full length of you. Then she winks.
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