Six sentences for Sunday, November 17:
The sky behind her is an azure blue, entirely without clouds, and the air around her seems to glow pink. Her eyes, slitted against the bright sun, are colorless cuts across her face. What she is looking at so intently is impossible to tell, only that it is something no one else can see. Her neck is long and seems about to bow under the weight of all the flowers in her hair. Round shoulders give way to soft upper arms and delicate wrists. With a magnifying glass, one can make out a hangnail on the index finger of her left hand where it grips the arm of her throne, her cuticle a raw, red fringe.