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Elves seem to posses a willowy beauty beyond description. Even the homely ones are excrutiatingly
beautiful beyond others standards and Sardonica is no exception.
As you look her up and down, she has a slim, wild beauty. She is slender, reedlike and
willowy with fine hips and shapely thighs. Long sensitive fingers grip a candle
who's light dances off her milky skin, glowing with pale gold undertones suggestive of nubile
curves beneath her dress. In a word, foxy.
Her glowing, child-like eyes focus on you - suspecting your attention on her - the soft color
in her sweet curled lips blushes like the flush of a sunset on snow.
Abruptly, a wealth of elf dark hair whips silkenly across your cheeks like a soft slap. You see a pale
blur and and know she's gone. You hear the thin, sardonic voice coo in your ear,
"Draw a picture, buddy, it lasts longer!"
You stand there, feeling weird and sassed, until you notice a picture album laying on
the dusty floor - then you realize - it's actually a book of words.
You open the dusty pages and decipher the ancient
elven script.
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