"I flipped over the next card, and smiled. There she was; Kaylee. My Sister, my Twin. She had my eyes, she'd argue otherwise being three minutes, twenty nine seconds older, but they were mine -- mostly. Hers had a bit more gray in them, made them moody, deep; a torchsinger's eyes. That's my Kay. Her face was mine too, we could argue who was prettier, I'd be lying if I said it was me -- and I'm damned pretty. She was a beauty, a face that could lift your heart with a smile, and dash it with a sneer. I saw myself in it, but only because I knew what to look for; she was all woman. I've heard enough of the wrong noises to know it. Her hair was mine too, though it was bleached by sunlight in the image, like unkempt strands of gold. She was wearing the t-shirt I'd given her, my sketch even -- I called it garbage, she said it was impressionistic. Only the short sleeves had been sacrificed to leave her muscled, but pale and feminine, arms bare. The shirt, much to my consternation, didn't hide her form, it clung to her curves and made me think about the number of cats I'd decked for saying the wrong thing after she walked by. The jeans she painted on didn't help, nor did those high heels that did, indeed, make her ass pop -- thank Goodness she was seated; The Trump would be in danger of becoming a trading card otherwise. I laughed as I recognized the scene, it was the balcony of a villa room in the Sands Casino back home. It was one of the tallest buildings on the strip, and she'd climbed up there on a dare. It was vintage Kay; daring, beautiful, dangerous. But enough about the boring Twin..."

-Jack