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Description

Dawn put on a smile to diffuse the tension that she was igniting. She knew that she was on to something with he allegations. It was clear that she had Sinclair rattled. Usually cool and collected, she could see the cracks in his finely maintained mask. But the true man that lurked behind that mask was dangerous, not to be taken lightly. She admitted that she was going to fast, reckless in her bravado. Sinclair was a worthy opponent, and should be treated as such.

"You are correct Mr Sinclair, I am forgetting my manners," Dawn replied, drawing from the etiquette of her elite upbringing. Offering a subtle bow of apology, she looked left and right, hands coming off her hips looking for something to do to fill the momentary awkward social tension. Taking two steps forward, she collected her wine glass, the bottle, and her notebook, in a delicate juggling act, before settling back down on the couch beneath the glow of the crackling fire.

"Thank you for bringing the wine," said Dawn with a sheepish grin as she poured herself a glass. Sinclair tipped his head indicating "you are welcome, please enjoy." Dawn looked down at her stocking feet, fixating her line of sight on the reinforced toes, checking for runs out of feminine ritual. Giving them a wiggle she chided herself for feeling so girlish all of a sudden. Why should she feel bad for going on the attack if Sinclair is guilty? Her luxurious blonde hair spilled over slight shoulders, pouring around her face like molten gold, heated by the fire's light. I need to figure out a way to get him to admit his misdeeds without putting myself into danger. Dawn looked into the murky vermilion depths of her wine glass for answers.

"By all means, I spared no expense," Sinclair's voice reached Dawn from deep within her own inner musings.

"Hmmm?" she replied glancing up. Oh, she realized he meant the wine. Offering the ghost of a polite smile, she nodded and brought the fine glass to her lips and drank deeply. She was looking for courage, for a path to justice. It felt so easy when she faced him as a teenager. Did I just get lucky back then? If the fire offered any meaningful answers, they were lost in crackling incoherence.

(This picture was made in Daz Studio 3.1.2.24 and postwork in Adobe Photoshop CS2)

Description

Dawn put on a smile to diffuse the tension that she was igniting. She knew that she was on to something with he allegations. It was clear that she had Sinclair rattled. Usually cool and collected, she could see the cracks in his finely maintained mask. But the true man that lurked behind that mask was dangerous, not to be taken lightly. She admitted that she was going to fast, reckless in her bravado. Sinclair was a worthy opponent, and should be treated as such.

"You are correct Mr Sinclair, I am forgetting my manners," Dawn replied, drawing from the etiquette of her elite upbringing. Offering a subtle bow of apology, she looked left and right, hands coming off her hips looking for something to do to fill the momentary awkward social tension. Taking two steps forward, she collected her wine glass, the bottle, and her notebook, in a delicate juggling act, before settling back down on the couch beneath the glow of the crackling fire.

"Thank you for bringing the wine," said Dawn with a sheepish grin as she poured herself a glass. Sinclair tipped his head indicating "you are welcome, please enjoy." Dawn looked down at her stocking feet, fixating her line of sight on the reinforced toes, checking for runs out of feminine ritual. Giving them a wiggle she chided herself for feeling so girlish all of a sudden. Why should she feel bad for going on the attack if Sinclair is guilty? Her luxurious blonde hair spilled over slight shoulders, pouring around her face like molten gold, heated by the fire's light. I need to figure out a way to get him to admit his misdeeds without putting myself into danger. Dawn looked into the murky vermilion depths of her wine glass for answers.

"By all means, I spared no expense," Sinclair's voice reached Dawn from deep within her own inner musings.

"Hmmm?" she replied glancing up. Oh, she realized he meant the wine. Offering the ghost of a polite smile, she nodded and brought the fine glass to her lips and drank deeply. She was looking for courage, for a path to justice. It felt so easy when she faced him as a teenager. Did I just get lucky back then? If the fire offered any meaningful answers, they were lost in crackling incoherence.

(This picture was made in Daz Studio 3.1.2.24 and postwork in Adobe Photoshop CS2)