Face of a saint. Lips of a sinner
Hell yeah, she would appreciate a camera (can you imagine Lily’s obsession with herself once she learns about selfies?). She listens attentively, trying to imagine a box with a lens and instantaneous detailing like when she looks at herself in the mirror. “That sounds amazing,” she exhales. Ever appreciative of beautiful people, Lily can’t imagine being able to preserve images like that forever - beauty fades, lasting only in memory and poetry and idolized nostalgia. Parties, friends, moments in time that should never be forgotten. She smiles, a little sadly, wishing she could see and handle something like this.
“I believe it,” she chuckles dryly. “Can you believe some people thought I was dangerous because of my red hair?” A hand idly comes up to touch her head, patting the vibrantly colored strands with affection. “Cursed or the devil’s child or bound to be a witch.” Mulling over that for a moment, she chuckles to herself. “Almost wish any of those had been true.”
It would have been better than her initial dull life of obedience. Things changed, eventually, but she stil mourns a little for the years lost to servitude.
“I believe it,” she chuckles dryly. “Can you believe some people thought I was dangerous because of my red hair?” A hand idly comes up to touch her head, patting the vibrantly colored strands with affection. “Cursed or the devil’s child or bound to be a witch.” Mulling over that for a moment, she chuckles to herself. “Almost wish any of those had been true.”
It would have been better than her initial dull life of obedience. Things changed, eventually, but she stil mourns a little for the years lost to servitude.
