Grey was her guardian angel but couldn’t help her. Now she’s back with vengeance on her mind.
From Interitas Volume 3: Unequaled
When she stopped walking for a moment and just breathed deeply, as she often did, Delilah was certain that she could smell magnolia blossoms. It made her happy. It reminded her of home. Magnolias thrived in the deep south and New Orleans was about as deep as it got, although some locals would say you had to go north to get to the south. Of course that was just people who considered themselves to be of refinement not wanting to admit that they were just a hop, skip, and jump from hillbilly.
Delilah, on the other hand, was southern gothic and damned proud of it. She was the very definition of refinement; a southern belle with impeccable manners and a sense of style that was second to none. She was the type of woman you’d find on shaded porches with a glass of sweet tea or lemonade using lace handkerchiefs to dab at the beads of perspiration that trickled down their necks. She was the type of woman who would welcome a gentleman caller to that porch for courting purposes but never beyond the threshold. That would be scandalous. She was the type of woman who used words like “sugar” and “honey” and all other manners of sweet affirmations said with a luxurious, Georgia purr that was like a Texas drawl strained through a piece of cheesecloth until it was smooth, buttery, and silky.
Did it matter that she was born in New Jersey? She didn’t think so.