It was dark, and the room matched the dark and cold that crept in. He was sound asleep, naked under the sheets and snoring. He was old, fat, rich, and lonely, her specialty. She sat up, nude except for the sheets that tugged on her body and smoked a cigarette. In truth, she hated smoking, but it took her mind off all these things. As she sat there, too disgusted to look at her "partner" her hair returned to a plain ash blond, and her eyes to a dull blue. Her mood dictated her look, and when she was alone, and no one there to dictate what she was, she was dull and all but soul less. She looked at her small childlike feet, too small for her height, and at times even crippling to her profession, she couldn't take long strides to get away. Willow heard him shift and she immediately turned her hair back to that golden blond wave and her eyes to their chestnut. She turned but he had only stirred and she went back to her cigarette. She thought of how he had grabbed and pushed into her with no foreplay. And like every time she hurt. She could pretend, she was good at that, and he came, quick and simple and quickly fell asleep like a child. Like all men are children in that way. She had risen and fallen to his will, and now it was time for her payment. She made them leave it on the table, where she promptly collected it, put out her cigarette, dressed and crept out into the night, where she belonged.