Kacie

Clara was the last of the sisters to walk through the door. She was devastatingly beautiful. She wore black jeans, a sheer maroon cropped blouse that fell off her shoulders, and a visible black bra underneath. Her black hair fell in loose curls and her light blue eyes landed on Viktor before sliding over to me. The orbs were dimly lit as they dangled from her ears. She practically glided across the room and sat in her seat.

“Good morning,” she greeted me whimsically. “Good morning, ...