Daisy. I smile—the kind of smile that I can’t restrain, that hurts my cheeks a little bit. She’s outfitted in a gray dress with expensive, elegant fabric and a yellow belt, more high fashion than commercial. Her long, long blonde hair hangs to her waist, the ends wavy. At seventeen, she walks like a mature, powerful woman with poise beyond my capabilities. Her hips sway; each towering high heel steps in front of the other. Her gaze is dead-locked ahead of her, seduction blazing in her red lips and focused eyes. The flashbulbs don’t cause her to blink or to falter. My young sister moves like
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