a gathering of fruits

The odd passerby might not think too much of the woman, sitting alone on a bench. She sits demurely enough, hands in her lap and back straight as any proper lady's should be. But her eyes are somewhat different. The people that walk in front of her don't even register, pass straight through her line of sight without making a blip. Once in a while her eyes do manage to slide to a different location, a different point of the grand, white building across the street from her. The home of the mayor, as it were.

A fan of architecture, one might think. A fan of old, stately beauty, perhaps. But those dead blue eyes don't seem particularly admiring.

testest