The Queen wants to meet you,” she murmured into my ear. She steered me through the crowd and out a narrow side door into the hall, then into a jewel-like sitting room where the Queen reclined on a divan, a snuffling dog with a pushed-in face cradled on her lap. The Queen was beautiful, with glossy blond hair in a perfect coiffure, her delicate features cold and lovely. But there was also something a little odd about her face. Her irises seemed a little too blue, her hair too yellow, her skin too smooth. I wondered just how much work Genya had done on her. She was surrounded by ladies in exquisite gowns of petal pink and soft blue, their low necklines embroidered with gilded thread and tiny riverpearls. And yet, they all paled beside Genya in her simple cream wool kefta, her bright red hair burning like a flame. “Moya tsaritsa,” Genya said, sinking into a low, graceful curtsy. “The …show more content…
It will take a while for you to learn your way around. The Little Palace can be a bit of a maze.” Then her perfect lips turned up in a mischievous smile. “You should try to rest. Tomorrow you meet Baghra.” “Baghra?” Genya grinned wickedly. “Oh yes. She’s an absolute treat.” Before I could ask what she meant, she gave me a little wave and slipped out the door. I bit my lip. Exactly what was in store for me tomorrow? As the door closed behind Genya, I felt fatigue creep over me. The thrill of knowing that my power might actually be real, the excitement of meeting the King and Queen, the strange marvels of the Grand Palace and the Little Palace had kept my exhaustion at bay, but now it returned—and, with it, a huge, echoing feeling of loneliness. I undressed, hung my uniform neatly on a peg behind the star-speckled screen, and placed my shiny new boots beneath it. I rubbed the brushed wool of the coat between my fingers, hoping to find some sense of familiarity, but the fabric felt wrong, too stiff, too new. I suddenly missed my dirty old
The expressions of the people in Hot Rhythm are those of carefree people enjoying life. However, Motley’s grandmother’s expression is very serious depicting the struggle of a former slave (Brown, 2014). The lines on the face of Motley’s grandmother define depth. The features and volume of her face are defined with deep lines above the brow. The lines around the nose and below the mouth show signs of age using shading to help create the shape of the face. The faces in Hot Rhythm are less defined using circular shapes for fullness. Most of the eyes in Hot Rhythm are closed. In Portrait of My Grandmother the eyes are open and glimmer with the use of light hues of brown. Even though the eyes are open, the lines in the face of Portrait of My Grandmother highlight the features and give character to the eyes. The contour lines around the eyes suggest volume by using dark shades around the eyes.
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
Her face is smooth, calculated, and precision-made, like an expensive baby doll, skin like flesh- colored enamel, blend of white and cream and baby-blue eyes, small nose, pink little nostrils-everything working together except the color on her lips and fingernails, and the size of her bosom.
Against the dark background of the kitchen she stood up tall and angular, one hand drawing a quilted counterpane to her flat breast, while the other held a lamp. The light, on a level with her chin, drew out of the darkness her puckered throat and the projecting wrist of the hand that clutched the quilt, the deepened fantastically the hollows and prominences of her high-boned face under its rings of crimping pins. (Wharton 22)
...s had ‘gone’ from her face. She was indeed very pretty, as her face was ‘sweet and young’ Her body, as mentioned, being ‘flopped like a fish’ shows death. The description of ‘half-covering’ would suggest to the the readers that the workers only knew half of her. The color ‘yellow’ does represent life which is ironic because she died. Adding ‘very pretty and simple’ suggest that the mens’ interpretations of her were completely opposite to what she truly was which also links to the ‘half-covering’. Her being ‘pretty’ shows that she didn’t need to wear makeup and that she was simple and beautiful naturally. This description shows the young, innocent lady that she is but with society and men, she significantly changed.
These were seven—an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different, as might have been expected from the Duke’s love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced, but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect.
Her pale, bloated face wore an expression of imbecile happiness. Every now and then her eyelids closed, and for a few seconds she seemed to be dozing. Then with a little start she would wake up again杦ake up to the aquarium antics of the Tennis Champions, to the Super-Vox-Wurlitzeriana rendering of "Hug me till you drug me, honey," to the warm draught of verbena that came blowing through the ventilator above her head-would wake to these things, or rather to a dream of which these things, transformed and embellished by the soma in her blood, were the marvellous constituents, and smile once more her broken and discoloured smile of infantile contentment.
Her eyes were blue with age. Her skin had a pattern of its own of numberless branching wrinkles and as though a whole little tree stood in the middle of her forehead, but a golden color ran underneath, and the two knobs of her checks were illuminated by a yellow burning under the dark. Under the red rag her hair came down on her neck in the frailest of ringlets, still black, and with an odor like copper.
She wore her professional white socks and saddle oxfords, and that bright pink frock with the square throat; a splash of jaded lamplight brought out the golden down on her warm brown limbs. There she sat, her legs carelessly highcrossed, and her pale eyes skimming along the lines with every now and then a blink. (138)
“I didn’t think she was ugly, not the way others in our family did. “Ai-ya, seeing her, even a demon would leap out of his skin,” I once heard Mother remark. When I was small, I liked to trace my fingers around Precious Auntie’s mouth. It was a puzzle. Half was bumpy, half was smooth and melted closed. The inside of her right cheek was stiff as leather, the left was moist and soft. Where the gums had burned, the teeth had fallen out. And her tongue was like a parched root…” (Tan 3).
Labeling himself as a “friendless man” (45), he feels bereft of “counsel” (38) in this “wretched exile” (40). To escape his lonely reality, he fantasizes about the stable way his life used to be and dreams of “the earlier days [of] the gift-throne” (44). Yet he must face reality and the memories that torment him - memories of lost kinsmen and their “clasps,” “kisses” (41), and “voices” (55). The tactile and auditory imagery is vivid in the dreams; unfortunately, he must awake to a stark, depressing reality.
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was...
Another half hour passes by before Alice emerges from her room, decked in her emerald-green dress, with her hair straightened and parted on the left, cascading around her shoulders. With glittering shades of silver, she accentuates the sea-green of her eyes, making them appear evermore alluring than usual while applying a soft pink gloss to her lips. “How do I look?” she asks, performing a twirl to allow her long hair to fan
Her jet black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Hairspray made the loose curls keep, while the pins kept it in place. Makeup concealed the dark circles which preceded underneath her eyes. Her tear streaked skin soaked in the arid pressing powder as her aunty continued to paint her face as though she were a doll. Aunty May had put a lot of effort into getting Allegra ready today. She bought her a dress last week, a black one. It had lace sleeves with tiny flowers cascading down the middle. It reminded Allegra of her mother, of a time when she was truly happy.
Many little girls dream of their big fairytale wedding with a prince charming of their own. We all have watched and grown up with the classic Disney movies that not only entertain children, but are influenced by what we see. I am guilty of wanting the fairytale wedding, big puffy gown, sparkles, handsome husband and our happily ever after. But what you don’t see is how much time and energy is put into creating your own fairytale wedding. After many months of planning and preparation for this day I was excited, nervous and anxious to carry on with the day that symbolized a new beginning with the love of my life. I was about to make a lifelong commitment to my one true love. Nothing I’ve done has taken so much preparation