Simon’s fate hung like a grape on the vine, all but ready to be plucked by delectable lips andengulfed. Her eyes considered him in lazy fashion, lids half-closed, all the better to showcase the immaculate make up. They called her the ‘White Queen’, and he could see why. The pale skin on classic features shone amidst the darkness of the world over which she ruled.

Her tongue lolled from the roof of her mouth, emerging from behind diamond-covered teeth, which in turn took their entrance from behind billowy curtains of blood red lips. She looked as if she might speak but did not. An idle finger twirled a stray curl of auburn hair from a sea of darkly shadowed waves. Someone shifted behind him. Someone else coughed.

There seemed little point in speaking up or pleading his case. He could see it all meant so little to her. He meant so little to her. He meant nothing. Fate and one or two bad decisions had brought him here. Only karma or luck could get him back out.

Simon wasn’t counting on either.