Molly’s hand traced the intricate pattern of runes that interlaced and surrounded the illustration of the temptress, Floret Shade, and she became distracted from her reading, smiling as she studied the long golden hair that seemed to float on the wind and mingle with the folds of her gown. Such a rich gown, beaded in an impossibly complex design that one would likely never even notice, considering how the bodice, cinched unfeasibly tight, presented her bosom. And, as if the display were not enough, the pale skin was dappled with droplets of jewels that glistened in the twilight, ensuring her prey would be ensnared. But, despite that abundance, the rest of her was thin, excruciatingly beautiful, and petite. Bare feet drifted over the ground, unbearably tiny and ethereal. But not fragile, not weak. Molly sighed as she rolled over, hopelessly yearning for that sort of strength and beauty. She felt the cool grass beneath her skin and became aware once more of the passage of time.
