Is it not a paradox that her deception should leave her beauty so unmarked? Her winsome countenance - generously admired - leaves her suitors abject; mere puppets on a string.
Verily, the essence of her is as a tarnished trinket. For to mine own soul she appears as jaded as a ***** house quean. Her eyes which once shone with the light of truth unblemished, a colourless and infinite mire overgrown with the entangled falsehoods she has seeded.
‘Deceiving others. That is what the world called a romance.’
- Oscar Wilde
‘And we all know love is a glass which makes even a monster appear fascinating.’
- Alberto Moravia, The Woman of Rome
