Impromptu

She turned, and I saw her unadorned face was narrow and pretty. A black speck under her left eye—a birthmark, or a decoration?—caught my gaze. Were it not for the star-shaped signature, I would be too shy to look directly at her peaceful uninterrupted beauty. Her lip, unfurling into an open smile, seemed on the verge of pouting. “I suspect those who make themselves the subject,” she declared liltingly.

“Yet everyone is a subject, whether or not they admit it.”

“Do you think of modesty as a virtue?” She reposed on the arm of the small couch. “Some things ought to be tucked out of sight.”