You stare. Your eyes follow the curve of the arching spine, drinking in the sight of the skin, stretching over a delicate bone structure. Seeing under the white dress for the first time... is a shock, to say the least. You can't tear your gaze away. You had always wondered if the innocence was a joke, a ploy, you didn't believe she could be as sweet as fucking pie. Not when surrounded by the likes of you. The purple bruises complement porcelain skin perfectly. The only thing you can think as you trail your heated gaze over her back and her left side (mapping out every inch), is that she is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
I stare at her. She's watching me. No, its not quite watching, its more intense than that. Her gaze seems to be memorizing me. Its nothing like the looks I normally get. Those are most often hungry, sometimes they're calculating, some are just mean. But her gaze is killing me, there's something... not tender, no. There's something human in that gaze. It takes me by surprise, I didn't expect it, least of all from her.
That intense look in her eyes, but its directed at me. Not at all disgusted, seeming almost enchanted. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Her hand trails down, tracing that curve of the spine. She brushes her finger tips over the bruises, lightly. A part of her is tempted to push on them. As she feels the fingers brushing over her bruises a part of her wants her to press them, to remind her of those marks. She wants to have a memory to cover how they got there.
She traces, fingers splayed, down her sides, hands flowing over the slight flair of her hips. She arches at that touch, shifting her shoulders back, displaying beautiful shoulder blades betwixt showers of gold.
Moving together like this, they are a most beautiful sight to be seen.