
Show over, you clap: “Only ten contracts ladies.”
Forty models turn as one, narrowing eyes.
They close in, fur walls pressing around you.
“Only ten? After that circus?”
You grin, hands raised in surrender.
All forty signed—the fur army is born.










Show over, you clap: “Only ten contracts ladies.”
Forty models turn as one, narrowing eyes.
They close in, fur walls pressing around you.
“Only ten? After that circus?”
You grin, hands raised in surrender.
All forty signed—the fur army is born.