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Chapter 8

Prisca was sixty nine years old, but looked like she just celebrated her sixtieth. All her hair had turned gray, but she didn't seem to be too worried about it. It was neatly made and packed in a ponytail, allowing it to fall behind her neck, caressing only the tips of her shoulders as she walked.

Her dress was clean and smart looking, her top matching the shoes on her feet.

She was neatly dressed and spoke fluently and unapologetically, her eyes not moving away from yours as she did. Her fingernails were neatly trimmed, her face bearing marks of wrinkles. Her lips were still and never moved, except and only when she spoke, and her teeth never showed. It was as though it was Impossible for her to smile.

She also had the appearance of a mourning woman. Like there wasn't anything to change her countenance again.

"She's looks like she'll be in my mum's age range"

Rose thought. It would be nice to have someone like my mum around. But prisca wasn't looking like any of Rose's thoughts.

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