She had perfume in her hair. Something that was delicate and rich, like a plush rose petal. But, that was something you remembered after she left.
When she was present she was fully present, bright and sparkling. There was an honesty that she seemed to live by, not like some deep code of ethics, more like a natural instinct that she couldn’t hide behind her black, sooty eyelashes.
It was that kind of enchanting aura that made everyone she met feel a strange yet evident loss when she left the room. Which she did often.
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Photo Credits: Memo Paris; Charlotte Tilbury; Morelli’s
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