Powder blue. A color that normally represents beauty and happiness. But her eyes held no happiness now, though they were deathly beautiful. Her eyes held nothing and seemed hazy, never really focusing on anything, yet at the same time, they held everything. Looking into her icy powder blue eyes, it was like seeing the answer to everything and nothing, all at once. Though, not many people could stand to look into her eyes, her soft baby blue eyes.
Soft as silk, her raven black hair was something to envy. Its soft strands never knotted, never got split ends, and was never out of place. Not even once. The wind would blow, but the ponytail holder that kept her hair in it pigtail held the soft hair where it was suppose to be. Her bangs would gently blow with the wind, than fall back into its rightful place, the bangs just barely reaching her eyes. She had the hair of a doll, of an ancient Japanese paiting, perfect, enviable, untouchable, surreal. Yet she was real as day.
Rudy red lips that never smiled stood out against her beautiful, flawless, pale skin. Her lips were not big and full, but a tad thin. Yet, they were as beautiful as the rest of her. She wore no glosses, no lipsticks, not chap sticks, for her lips were naturally their healthy color and they never chapped or cracked. They never tore and she never nibbled on them, for nibbling was a nervous habits and she did not get nervous, because she was a Dragon and Dragons were calm, serene beings by their very nature.
Her cheeks adorned no color, like the rest of her skin, and yet, her beauty did not fade. Red on her cheeks would make her look embarrassed and pink would seem so unnatural to her, though others needed the color to look normal. She looked perfect without the color, for her pale cheeks allowed her ruby lips to shine forth without being blocked off by a different patch of color on the flawless face that she'd been blessed with.
Her ears were just as perfect as the rest of her face. They were not big, nor were they too small. She had no piercing, for that would take away the naturalness that is she. She did not need earrings to draw attention to her perfectly shaped ear. People looked at her ears on their own, as her pigtail kept the hair up, exposing her ears to the outside world.
She had high cheek bones and her face was thin, not narrow, but just right. No baby fat, or any fat for that matter, was upon her face. Her hair, while mostly in a pigtail, seemed to curve to frame her face, showing off her cheek bones and perfect chin, rounded chin.
Her neck was beautiful, pale and slender. The muscles and bones didn't protrude through, yet her neck was not fat, none of her was. Her neck, like her face, was free of imperfections, unflawed by the ways of humans and nature alike.
Smooth and elegant, her shoulders were perfectly fit for the dress she adorn. The sleeves of the dress hung more on her upper arm than on her actual shoulder itself. She had no tan lines on her shoulders to ruin her picture of perfection.
The dress she wore was old fashioned, yet it fit perfectly into modern times. The sleeves were tight at the top, hugging her skin, then flowed out gracefully, so that the bottom of the sleeve reached just a little passed her wrist and when the sleeve was help out to full length was a foot long. The dress itself hugged her without being too clingy. One could tell she had the perfect curves without getting a full show. The dress seemed baggy in the chest area, then tightened to mold to her stomach perfectly, allowing you to see the gently movement of her lungs as she breathed softly through her nose. The bottom part of the dress seemed to flow out freely and it reached about a mere two inches above her knees, showing only two inches of skin before her knee high socks blocked the view of anything else. The dress was black, but not a jet black. It was more of a light black, almost a very, very dark grey. Though she would have looked equally wonderful in another outfit, this one was her favorite of all, because he had bought it for her, to make her happy, and the effort brought a serenuty to her that she held inside her even now.
Her legs were fit and feminine, as her socks were thing and clung to her, showing the curving of her legs. They were graceful and beautiful, long, but not too long. They were the legs of someone who could run for hours, yet weren't bulging with muscles.
Upon her feet were black dress shoes, shiny from either being just cleaned or brand new. No one knew for sure which it was. Her feet were small, like all Japanese women, and fit with her dainty, surreal body nicely.
Her last feature was her hands. Pale, like the rest of her, they stuck out against her black dress. Her fingers were long and elegant, like a pianists fingers, though her muscial talents did not lay in the instrument. Her nails were so long that they could be claws, but rather they just reached past her finger tips. Her nails never had dirt under them and were perfectly rounded. The back of her hand was smooth and soft, well kept. They were not the hands of someone who worked, but rather, someone who got their work from working out. Her palms were smooth, except at the base of the fingers, which were just barely rougher than the rest, from holding many a weapon in them, though those days were behnd her now.
A picture of perfection, that's what she was. Not a single part was flawed upon this fifteen year old girl, possible sixteen. She was someone to be envied by all, regardless of age or gender. Yet, no one envied her, but rather, they merely look upon her with fascination and awe. Kimiko Tohomiko was her name, yet no one knew this. No one knew her name, age, birthday, or well, anything about this stunning picture of beauty. Why? Quite simply, Kimiko Tohomiko is dead, and she will not leave this place.
One day, the wandering maiden ghost of Brazil will find peace. One day, when he shows up and tells her he loves her and that he misses her, that her death hurt him like she hurts now. One day the hollowness will lift from her eyes like a veil, and she will vanish into the sky to be with the angels she so resembles. One day Raimundo will come for her. She knows he will, no matter what melacholy settles over her heart, she knows he will come.
Because it was him, she would have done the same.