Oh, freedom of thought, preserve me! Let me wander from this pen of a concept, marking me up with good intentioned beating! Stop! You're bruising me with your attentions to my attentions to the subject.
Let me see.... Ah, yes. Here's a fairy, flittering about in my brain. The first thing I see are her wings. They're twin jewels, gold and red and green and black, severe knifes protruding gauzily from her bare back. She's a whirl of colors, a blur of gemmery. With her exotic, burnished skin and cat-green eyes, the illusion is compounded. And then she parts her sanded-peach lips in a poisonous bloom of a smile. This fae creature is more dangerous than her miniature size would lead one to believe.
You're STILL talking? What the hell FOR? You're only rattling on about things that don't matter, the noise emitted from your mouth even more irritating when contrasted with the potential of other things you might have to say. (Like *SILENCE*) Your words are crates of glass in the back of a pickup truck driving on a gravel road. (Yeah, slightly toward the annoying side.)
Hm... let's try this. A girl steps from a white Cadillac, swinging her denim-blue toenails encased in four inch espadrilles elegantly off the side of the brown leather seats. The black grosgrain straps twine up her golden-brown calves. She ducks out of the car, snapping down her shades with her perfectly manicured fingers before anyone can glimpse her eyes. She's hiding from the world, and doing a perfectly acceptable job of it.
And you're STILL yammering on. Oh, freedom of thought, preserve me!
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