Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🔥 But don't play with me,
'cause you're playing with fire 🔥
--- *** ---
The suddenness of the much older woman whose age approximately emulated to the early seventies rippled forcibly potent its painfully sore goosebumps of Jude's overall delicate epidermis of her arms and legs. Stinging searingly fiery her hazelish-brown cabochons at the embarrassing prospect of the stranger lady exquisitely matched with the profusely luxurious powder of cherry hue decorating uniquely her porcelain, elderly appealing complexion.
The older lady's unhealthily unimpressive skin tone emulated to the achromatic shades of the paleness. Furthermore, she stood solely 5'1 before the taller figure of the former pious sister of the church whose very presence could be interpeted as a fully uninvited guest. Her big, roundish silver brown bijous elegantly matched with her balding, femininely thin eyebrows and her subtly thin, brim mouth. Notwithstanding her elderly physique, a halo ringlet of greasy hoary tresses cascaded her mid-back fashionably as a fistful of her fringe curtained incredible her porcelain façade. Her body structure etched its prominent muscles and curves averagely even though her critically unhealthy skin tone.
In spite of the foreign older lady's presence granting its stormy tempest of discomfort innundating the Bostonian's pit of her stomach with unnatural glacial coherent waves trashing unceasingly, a wryly welcoming, jovial smirk wickedly tugged at the corner of her chapped mouth. Wry mirth authentically majestic inscribed the curves hypodermically of her heavy wrinkles. Her attires were a humble knee length old-fashioned rosewood dress with boat neckline and long sleeves bonded with embroidered showy cashmere belt binding her waist, paired with thick, rigidly woolen jet-black pantyhose guarding her bony legs and modest violet slippers shoeing her brittle, petite feet that weren't ideally matching with her outfit adequately.
Last but not least, incredulous stringency twisted past her round, slender profile as well. Her name was eventually Jane Daisy Martinez.
"G-Good day, ma'am!" At the moment, a sheepishly demure stutter almost died on the younger woman's fat of her tongue, boring her honey brown cabochons into Jane Daisy's grayish, sluggishly buffing a coyly formidable, gracious smile upon her roseate, insatiably cherub lips. Her jet-black gloved fingers childishly unnerving fidgeted the winter ebony pantaletot swathing her torso as its hem perkily vibrant flared across her hips. "Are ya actually having some sort of associations with the ex-Monsignor Timothy Howard?" The sheer awkwardness even more intensified forcefully fierce its tension of the platonic pairing that maintained an appropriate distance.
"No, ma'am!" Maneuvering a shake of her head in solemn disagreement, consequently the huskily high-pitched, rusty undertones of the pensioner's polite address reined the blonde to quirk quizzically a dark, thin eyebrow at the response. "There isn't such a person living in this apartment."
