A SPRAY OF INTENSE VIOLET PETALS mottled fair hair sprawled on olive grass. Teron and Lucia lay, fingers entwined, gazing at a lavender sky interspersed with longitudes of silver cloud.
"Ridiculous," Lucia said.
She sat up and leaned against the bark of a tall, thin tree.
"Honest," Teron said. He rolled and raised himself on elbows. "A garland of flowers." He regarded her. Charcoal eyes gleamed like freshly enkindled coal.
Hazel eyes, hers, grayed with strong indignation. She swung her hair backwards and tails of its tresses brushed Teron's clean-shaven face.
"Rubbish!" she said.
"It's not rubbish," he said.
"Is that what you liken me to? Flowers?"
"Exotic flowers," he said.
"Only exotic?" A fiendish slide of eye.
His arms wrapped around her waist.
)
Lucia's quest to conquer the pinnacle of beauty yields surprising results.
