Her touch is unique.

It’s part of her mystery, part of that great unknown that is Madeline-Antoinette. Her touch has a quality to it, an awareness and deliberateness, which I’ve never known before. It’s not that she’s cold, or passionless; I’ve seen her spontaneity and fire too close at hand to think such a thing. I’ve been burned by her hands, her ( Read more... )

Madeline-Antoinette St. Germain Sabatier, I had thought to myself, turning the piece of heavy paper over with a smile.

She was an eccentric darling of the socialites of Sao Paolo. The conversation spoke of her excellent taste and exclusive soirees, an invite to which was not to be turned down. The whispers said other things; strange, said some, ( Read more... )