A/N:K, this is Satines thoughts on Christian. When? I don't
know. Pick a point in time. She's just...THINKING! Please be
kind, I don't deal well with flames. I'll just be mean when I
review your stories. :p Well, here it is, enjoy.
My Gift Is My Song
Your eyes shine dark azure, dark as the night sky and
as warm as the gentle glow of the moon on a mid summers eve.
Your hair is as black as the raven's wing and hangs in short
locks, framing your pale face, which is boyish, yet still
manages to broadcast your many struggles. Your lips are soft
and thin, a mishcheivious grin always tugging at their edges.
They are a pale pink color, not a huge contrast to your milky
complexion. No stubble dares disgrace your nearly perfect
features, as if it knows it will grow only to be shaved off.
Your voice is rich and cultured, but always keeps a hint of
playful youth in its tones. On cheek bones strong and set,
play shadows that serve only to accent the lines and curves
of your face. Every word you speak rolls smoothly off of your
tongue, dripping with your thick accent, regal and elagent in
its own right. When you sing, th enotes ring through the air
in a luxuriously legato manner, knocking everyone within ear-
shot back and leaving them breathless. Your poetic stanzas
bring tears to the eyes of the most stoic and cold hearted.
Your gift truely is your song.
I have to know, was it okay, or did I just completely butcher
the English language? PLEASE R&R!!! I'll know if you don't...
Muahahahahahahahahaha! P.S. Please point out any spelling
errors of mine, just be kind, don't pretend like you don't do
it too. :)