Friday, April 29, 2011


Fiorella doesn't need a birth certificate. She has her own official bio, if you remember:

I am young, slender, and beautiful.

My eyes are sky blue, gray when life is cloudy, purple in passion. My golden hair ripples down past my waist--on good days, down to my ankles--and on really tremendous days, it's long enough to fling out the tower window for my lover to climb up.

I was not born, but sprang full-grown from my father's brow. On my left cheek, I have a small birthmark, my only connection to the imperfections of this mortal coil.

I am built much like a Barbie doll. My breasts are ripe melons that totally defy the laws of gravity. My waist is so tiny that you wonder how I breathe. And my shapely legs are not only incredibly long, but come equipped with naturally-pointed toes. No brains, of course, but that's not part of the package.

I am as graceful as a gliding swan, have a voice like angels singing, and walk in beauty like the night.

Also, I write fiction.

No comments: