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“It’s my specialty, you know. I can make it any flavor.”
Granger’s hands dance among the bottles, but Bella’s eyes are on her lips, her Cheshire grin. “French-vanilla blonde? I wear it well. Or here, strawberry-cherry? She’s a sporty bit of fun.” Granger steps close and looks her up and down, head to toe. “Maybe chocolate, dark and bitter, just like you? ”, and that would be enough for most, but Bella knows to wait.
Then a madness from that mouth, and then a crystal vial from a cabinet:
one single hair, half black as night, half bleached to silver bone.