even in the twilight I could see that her makeup had faded away,
clinging only to the edges of her cheekbones, the corners of her eyes, and the rim of her lips--
like a paled silhouette of what had enchanted him in lieu of the witching hour.
his blue angel
contorted but not defeated--
torn--but steadfast--
frank desire overpowering her faded features
illuminated now by starlight--
drawn in by the twinkle of her eyes