In a certain moment, the scene from six years ago seemed to reset before my eyes.
The same mechanical table, the same bustling scene.
The images pushed forward one by one.
On a winter day six years ago, eighteen-year-old Nora Scott, dressed in a thin sweatshirt, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses on, the mask's strings hanging on one ear, her long hair cascading down her back.
Graceful and poised, with an eye-catching aura.
Even though the sunglasses covered most of her face, just the delicate nose, thin lips, fair skin, and the beautifully contoured profile could tell you she was stunning.
Such a beauty, yet she leaned against the exhibition stand eating an ice-lolly.
The people who occasionally stopped in front of the stand were all drawn to her. Some were teasing, some flirting, which made her extremely impatient, every movement filled with a fiery temper, and with just a few words, she drove the visitors away from the stand, leaving no one daring to stay.
