Flightless, yet still so captivating. That one, tiny cerulean butterfly on her hip...
Like an angel's kiss.
Alexis Crone was faced with beauty as he never thought it could exist: flawless, and unmarred by any of mankind's cruelty. Strange then, how he found himself drawn, not to the pale curve of her body, framed so perfectly by the hotel's crimson sheets. Nor to the seductive play of her fingertips, across the lower expanse of her stomach. Not even to those too blue eyes, now smoldering with the promise of untold passions.
But to a small tattoo, balanced artfully, on the swell of her hip: