Rumours. I had heard that she was beautiful. Enchanting. Charms; the Enchantress. I did not want to believe; to give too much credit to what was said. To what they said. Still I needed to see. To see it, with my own eyes. Her eyes were mesmerising - actually. Dark. Just dark. No colour, nor wonder. Merely intense. What a contrast with her skin. Was she even real? Porcelaine. Immaculate, and bright. Almost as if a thin layer of oil was covering her skin. Her cheeks. Lively reddened. I could not distinguish make-up - was there even any? - from what was real; what was her. Transcendental. The sheen was on her long raven-black hair, too. An ink cascade. A somber rain pooring in the dim light cast by the candles. The soft touch of her slender hands would remain vivid in my memories. For long. And I would not - then I could not - forget the sound of her voice. Husky chant to my ears, for years to come.