I remember her hair alone as if it were my favorite poem, how it fell in thick, luscious waves over her shoulders, how it was so many impossible colors, darks and lights mixed together in a cacophony of vibrancy, how it was thrown into an effortlessly perfect style. The undertones matched the freckles running across her cheeks, the colors of autumn.
Velveteen dresses in hues of red passed my line of vision, the skirts whipping with giddy movement as they made their way towards the celebration, but one skirt snagged itself on an open armor case, yanking the woman wearing it to the ground at my feet. Despite the fall, she still looked marvelous, the pristine craftsmanship of her gown, that of nobility. The locks that swung in front of her face were like swirls of chocolate and caramel. The bouncy curls had finally settled, creating swoops of smooth decadence that mimicked her skin tone. Eyes as brown as hot cocoa and as deep as melting as lava shone back at me with surprise and apologies. Without hesitation, i stuck my hand out to haul her up from the tiles. Her eyes shone with embarrassment as she reached her own out to me. But before our fingers could touch, the two other women accompanying her had returned and one with a particularly fierce gaze snatched her wrist and yanked her to her feet.
