She was drenched in gold. Golden fingertips and golden skin and the brightest, kindest smile. To call her majestic would be quite the understatement. The music that played as she sat high in her royal red chair made my heart slump in a perfect, painful position. Echoes of the instruments rang in my heart.
I couldn’t stop from staring at her.
The dimples in her cheeks exaggerated as someone told her a joke or sang a compliment—which she took with love and humility.
The dress she wore tried to reflect her heart—silk and long and tight and yellow with intricate, purple beading—and failed. It can’t be fabricated or made artificially. It lived inside her.

And I just continued to stare at the light that was her.

And those golden eyes met my grey ones.

I couldn’t breathe.