[a character sketch from a work in progress]
Bianca was 23.
She didn’t have wings.
Those that knew her generally agreed she didn’t need them, her goals were lofty enough and her tenacity up to the task. She was blonde by natural pigment, but there was always someone in her group that would joke about its authenticity. Bianca had a way of dissipating that doubt with an accommodating laugh and a soul-shattering look. She never painted her face before the sunset because she felt people should focus their attention on what surrounded them other than her. That belief changed at night. Her voice was sweet, although her word choice could be bitter at times. Life had always been kind to Bianca, but she liked to be prepared for the future.