The child across the room was as wild and untamed as a feral night thing. Her dark hair was snarled with knots and leaves, dirt caked her otherwise pale face like a mask, and her clothes were dull and unimpressive with rips and snags as abundant as if it were patterned into the fabric itself.


Soirsha was as she always had been: beautiful, with hair as red as the morning that burned to her waist like an arrogant flame.

Her skin was the warm color of peaches that, when flushed with excitement, would imitate the succulent heat of sun-kissed apricots.

She liked to wrap herself in seductive cloths on her provocative body, donning gowns that kissed her curves with exquisite splendor.

Creamy satin enveloped her, rolling down thighs as smooth as flower petals. Elegant embroidery ran along the delicate hem, linked with an elven design that looped upwards with silver and champagne stitches