She was hot, not the provocative sort, but of the unmissable type. We observed each other for a while. The skies were low, the air cold. She wore sheepskin and high boots. I had a sense that she would take the initiative: she did.
Once in my studio she proved to be a quiet girl, but willing to tell her story.
But there was that oddity: eager to shed all her clothes, but for her boots. At first I thought it was a joke, but it somehow calmed me down.
I looked into her eyes. The light I saw was not of this world. I admit: I used force, the boots were now on the floor.
In a brief spark of light I saw the hooves, then “she” was gone.