You look at a beautiful figure before you.
Glowing pink is her hair. Blue are her eyes.
A smile that knocks the bravest off their feet.
A soul that saves.
She sings softly, as if to herself:
"Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures
dancing gracefully across my memory."
She sways back and forth.
Quiet and meek.
Beautiful.
.