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Weekly Contest #181
My sister was an angel. Not characteristically but physically. She had the looks, the charm, and the brains that lured the metropolis hive. Like bees, men and women followed her scent, trying to flatter or batter her- metaphorically speaking. Her face was on every magazine cover: some flashing her flawless skin, others chasing the glimmer in her eyes, like a predator gazing at the prey. I remember, two weeks before the fall, I picked one of the magazines sitting on her desk and turned to the particular page. Natasha stared back from the phot...
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