Trust is just the opening act to betrayal. Lola was innocent once. Scarred in neither body nor soul she lived for beauty and truth until both were taken from her by men who are remembered now only by the worms that wreath their bones. So now she rides, out of the dull glare of the sodium lamps into a darkness that knows her better than she knows herself. This rosehip and hibiscus saison mourns distant sweetness turned bitter by earthly corruption.