Somewhere underneath it all, laid something. It wasn’t distinct, nor in the common view but my…my… if you had seen her that night, I promise you you’d of done the exact same as I. To the blind bandit, the ignorant fop, the rusty marksman, to thee actual common man…. All of them could not see the truth all they saw were the clear flaws.
These flaws which hid something; the chapped lips with her dry tongue greeting them often were accompanied by smoke upon her breathe, the bloodshot eyes crimson with heartache, the skin dirty maddened with aged scars. The blonde hair scruffy recklessly cut into split ends & rough braids, the ears cringing, her frame short and embroidered with a sure poise which led her blades to swing so freely, so gracefully.
Her chest mail green and fitting, and not at all welcoming anyone’s view, the mail warded folk off. The saggy breeches ashen with a deathly blue, her hands…. Her hands… stained with callus. Her stance menacing like a lone wolf, her blades being her border of contact.
These flaws which hid a tasteful beauty.
But somewhere underneath it all, laid a woman, and what a woman at that….
Someone’s rugged thorn..... my… beautiful Rose.
________
Hermit
