Lightly she stepped away from me, across the shimmering whiteness of the floor, turning slowly in a circle, her head back, as if she were dancing.She turned; she smiled; the pale light of the sky struck the lovely angles of her face, the high cheekbones, the gentle slope of her chin. Alive she looked, utterly alive.
Her hair had been loosened; all those plaits gone. And now the rippling black waves came down free over her shoulders, heavy, glossy, and inviting to kiss.
She was something fit for the most lavish palace of the imagination; something both sensuous and divine.
"But this is madness!" I whispered.
"Ah, but you fight me so hard, my prince," she whispered. There was a flash of anger, hurt. She came near to me. If she kissed me again, I was going to start weeping. I'd thought I knew what beauty was in women; but she'd surpassed all the language I had for it.
from The Queen of the Damned by Anne Rice
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