her skin is pale. barely darker than the lined paper she is writing on. the pale colour amplified by the black sweater draped over her shoulders and the black lace outlining her bust. her pale face framed by soft gold. her hair is free falling around her. stray stands fall on the black backdrop or to the floor. it dances when the wind blows. her white hands sweep the gold strands from her face. long nails polished in dark blue. full, soft pink lips in almost a constant pout. only darkened by the lubrication from her licking them or the odd application of a dark shaded stick. full, if void of colour. almond shaped eyes lined in black and shadowed lightly, begging to be noticed. blue and grey stones staring out from their white ponds. she sits there in her pale beauty. in her solace of silence and solitude. her simple silence mistaken for snobbery. she is just shy, afraid of what they will think. but she listens. hearing all their words and whispers, their thoughts and secrets. she appears like a mystery or at least misinterpreted. she is just simple beauty.