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Weekly Contest #62
Havelock Road was deserted at that time of the night. Lucia knew that there would be no single soul in sight. Ootacamund was a sleepy town where people retired to their beds at 9.30 PM; she was the only one walking on the street. Wrapping herself with a jerkin and a shawl, she adjusted the scarf around her face, with the exception of her eyes. Those honey-coloured eyes were enough to entice anyone. Her jet-black curly springs of tendrils were tied into a ponytail. She wore no accessories, as she wasn’t a sucker for ornaments or jewelle...
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