Fascist Forest Nymphs

Adventures and Anecdotes - #11

We meet at the edge of the forest. Her name is irrelevant. So is mine. I’m standing on a gravel road, she is floating an inch or two above the ground. That’s pretty fucking peculiar. She is covered in a blue-ish, red-ish veil, some might call it purple. Her face is covered, merely the green eyes are visible.