Adamantine

he stood as if painted by the hand of Raphael himself—elegant, luminous, and unknowably distant. At twenty-one, she had long since passed the threshold between maidenhood and womanhood, and she wore that maturity like a hidden jewel beneath layers of silk and etiquette. Her face bore the serene symmetry of nobility, a gentle oval framed by waves of raven-black hair, parted neatly in the center and coiled into braids that crowned her head like a circlet of ink spun into gold. Her skin was a soft olive tone, smooth as marble warmed by the sun, with a glow that caught the light in the hollow of her cheeks and along her slender throat. Her brows were dark and softly arched, giving her expression a natural intelligence, while her eyes—deep hazel with flecks of gold—were limpid and soulful, the kind of eyes that promised both secrets and sorrows. Her lips, full and softly defined, rested naturally in a contemplative half-smile, as if amused by thoughts no one else could hear. The gown she wore clung to her with the precision of a whispered scandal—tailored in the Florentine style, with a square neckline that revealed the upper slope of her décolletage. Her bust was full and high, accentuated not garishly but with reverence, as though the dress itself had been designed to honor her form, not reveal it. There was power in her posture—her back straight, shoulders low—yet a feminine softness lingered in every gesture, every turn of her wrist, every subtle movement beneath the weight of brocade and velvet., bukkake, cum, <lora:MS_Real_XL_Bukkake:.8>