a boy of youth painted in fresh, unexplored eyes, like curious pearls in an intense fusion of brown and red, a guarded secret. Under the shadows of that night, his locks flowed like a curtain of long, impeccably straight hair that danced in the wind, glistening like polished padra, and resting on the peach-colored skin of his face like porcelain, roundly delicate and immaculate, like a forgotten pale rose. Her thin, elongated neck was an extension of her posture, the contour of her chin, perfectly smooth and tucked in, following the movement of the hair that curled between her curved ears, a subtle charm to her face, her thin eyebrows curving gently downwards, like tranquil feathers in the wind. She wore unfashionable causal clothes: a dark green tunic untucked into a loose, thin white sweater that came up inside the garment, protecting her chest, and tucked into long, loose black pants, a dark leather belt holding it up.