I realised I’d been staring at her shoes and feet for rather a long time, and hadn’t been listening to a word she said. “Sorry, not that who no...ices?” I asked. “Greg, of course. I always try to look nice, and he never even notices. He says women look silly trying to walk in heels. Honestly, would he prefer me to wear wellies?” “I think they look great. Your shoes I mean. I mean, I think you look great. In them.” She looked up, surprised at the stammered compliment. I wondered for a second. But there was one reality she couldn’t escape, she had been chosen and her options, just like the shadows, were fading as sun slowly started to creep up into the sky. She had known this was a possibility. The same way you know you might spontaneously combust, or that the lead in your favorite lipstick might give you cancer. You could even argue that she had chosen this. That she had in fact been given a choice. Though really, who would choose Cazamir? Not her, she scoffed at herself… ‘ yeah,. More

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