By Wakefield Mahon
Hannah heard the sound of drums, or maybe the pounding of her heart. Greta’s forehead rested against her own, inflaming her.
But it was a scene after all. Her sister Ute would call it silly cosplay nonsense.
They called Hannah the big bad wolf in the Leipzig underground clubs, but toothsome and oh so feminine Greta offered no asylum. “Not my type” she’d said.
“Hannah, can I see you after the shoot?”
Hanah’s heart raced. Could it be?
Greta slapped her back, “I would really love it if you could introduce me to your sister Ute, she’s kind of hot.”