She sits, as a lady does, in a stiff-backed chair with her hands quietly folded and her legs daintily crossed.
She stares off with unassuming eyes and an innocent mouth flawlessly carved on her doll face. She lightly drips of jewels, purposely placed. her pale grey dress of silk and lace shines against her fair skin.
She is watched by others. βotherworldlyβ they whisper as they sit, captivated, at every poised move and eloquent word.
She sits, with a soul of an ancient ache. She stares through eyes that have witnessed pain. She is watched with vapid glances of oblivious peoples.
but, She keeps the truth hidden, her face beautifully blank. a Portrait, for nothing else is regarded, when clothed in silk and lace.