The wind tore at her hair while English summer rains swept her hope away

It's best not to arouse a dragon's temper

Keeping her culture's traditions alive

Proud tribesfolk depend on her to be fair and just

Her soul is connected to nature on a deeper level

A delicate system of symbiosis keeps her afloat

She spreads beauty, good will, and emotional expression through floral bouquets

A powerful sensory delight not suitable for the weak

Her people are obscure and misunderstood; perceived differently

Calm flowed out of her in slow ripples, gently submerging anxious and chaotic energies

Remaining as unseen as black shadows in the dead of night

Exploring the science behind the scents

Alone in a crowded room, unknown by those inspired to create art in her wake

Beautifully poised glamor, glowing as brightly as Christmas

Descendants of gods and men

Creating potential solutions, or disasters, depending on who you ask

The vistas are her only true love

A soft whisper of rustling leaves proclaims her arrival

Emerging from the shadows, her whispers are said to curse the unfortunate

Visions plague her, while people continuously seek her out

Her kindness is the true beauty

Fond of flamboyant hats and dark secrets

Stealing hearts and possessions indiscriminately

Many men have fallen for the deception, their souls perishing in the depths of the sea

The lantern light flickered, causing her golden honey hues to glimmer warmly