With soft brown eyes the color of a fawn in the woods at dusk, “Dorothea” gazes downward, deep in romantic thought. While fantasies glide through her tender mind, soft tendrils...
With soft brown eyes the color of a fawn in the woods at dusk, “Dorothea” gazes downward, deep in romantic thought. While fantasies glide through her tender mind, soft tendrils of flaxen hair drift about her beautiful face, framing it in a golden wash of light. A red jewel, the delicate color of Dorothea's lips, rests against the neck of her garment, its lushness echoing the passions that lie deep within this demure maiden.