We've kind of moved things around. You could try looking in the menu at left, or checking the sitemap. Or maybe you'd like to read one of these stories, instead?
High arched brows, both thin and black, her eyes were perfectly round, a startling green and ringed with bright blue, and such thick feathered lashes she wore, two small circles of blush drawn symmetrically beneath cheekbones left sharp by the sag of skin, and the wrinkles were a part of it, too, gathering powder, matching curves that swooped down and then up again from the corners of a mouth left nondescript by the absence of both paint and smiles; for instead of a face, the woman had a butterfly.
Still, she's never been much for others, my mother: at the time I didn't know if she realised her sister was actually on her deathbed, but now I'm starting to think she just had no sympathy for the situation.
Dragon Age Origins. Alistair is shamed, Zevran fails to make it better.
Antoni arched his back, did as the irony scripted across his chest demanded, and thrust his pecs forward.