She carried herself with a meek sense of confidence that somehow seemed to surprise her conversation partners when her mouth remained tightly shut, straight teeth like bricks holding in the words floating around her throat. Her shoulders were dusted with freckles, marking careless summers in a field somewhere, where the hot sun and company's laughter made her forget to utilize a tree every once in a while. Her long legs appeared to permanently house old, scattered bruises nestled deep within her paper skin, and exactly three mosquito bites that told anyone who noticed them "I stayed outside just the right amount". Her heedful heart beat cautiously in her chest, with great concern for a sudden and dramatic burst of emotion that might force stagnant blood out of the holes that had been so carefully stitched back up.
She, like most women, was permeable.
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