Six sentences for Sunday, April 13:
The Reyes girls were truly a sight to behold, each more beautiful than the next. They shared their father’s tall, spare frame, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where he was sand and silver, they were all shadow and light, skin like the peeled back flesh of birches, hair like wild dark silk. Vera, the eldest, was imperious and sure, a supple switch about to strike. The middle daughter, Violet, had the limber attitude of a swimmer, slow and languid as if she were suspended underwater. The youngest, Vinette, was the dancer, graceful in a way her sisters only hinted at, her hands never at rest.