Midnight Velvet and Tulle

A blur of midnight blue, she dashed past the brick building, and across the muddied field. She flung herself at the chain link fence, clinging onto the cold metal with emerald-tipped fingers, as if to a lifeline. He could see her shoulders shake beneath the velvet bodice of her dress, though her face was hidden, facing the salt marsh. Her long, dark hair tumbled down her back in wild disarray and her skirts rustled in the cold evening. He could almost feel the hopelessness and despair rolling off of her in waves. Without warning, she whipped around and in her eyes he saw not only sadness but rage and a sort of exhaustion, for she was one who had become weary of the world. She paused, noticing the red-haired man. The berry blossom of her mouth stiffened. He saw, from the moment she noticed his presence, the shift like a film over her eyes, back to the haughty, brusque, efficient woman the world knew. He hoped that she would read his apology in his eyes, but she merely tossed her dark tresses, lifting her chin back up, and breezed past him, with the collected dignity that was her armor. He had not a clue the nature of his transgressions, but she was not one to be hurt so easily, and it made him uneasy.