She knew then that she must’ve been drunker than she realized, because when she looked up, she at first thought she was looking at an angel. He had feather-light, white blonde hair, perfectly reflecting the moonlight, like a halo around his head. His skin was glowing, and his face was so sculpted and sharp and beautiful that you could’ve convinced her it had been carved from marble. He was tall, wearing a crisp white oxford shirt that must’ve been sewn directly onto him for it to fit that well. The top three buttons had come undone, and offered a glimpse of his collarbone, and a hint of the smooth pale expanse of his chest. Both of his sleeves had been rolled up to his forearm, and she stared at the exposed muscle longer than she’d care to admit, but just long enough to notice a slight glimmer of a glamor on his left arm mostly hidden by the jacket he was carrying over it.