Florian has other words for her. Russet, he says, in a voice that makes her awful hair sound like silk; and auburn, warm as velvet. Tigress, he says laughing, as though her claws, her snarls, her spite, were something grand and wild.
Indomitable, he says, and indispensable.
She knows it's nonsense; it's all words, most of them meaning nothing. But she wants, all the same, to be as beautiful as he makes her sound.