She did not walk in the room as much as she drifted in, the way drapes do when the wind comes in through a North facing
window. Short dark hair with a hundred silver butterfly hair clips
, bright blue eyes that sparkled like the glitter
on her cheeks and her shoulders. The light bounced off her like noon day sun
She wore a sheath dress-metalic-the color of the inside of an oyster shell. As she moved toward the bar, the crowd parted and she illuminated the space they left.
She had a single flute of wine in one hand leaving the other arm, a neon blue bracelet slid down to the elbow, spinning in half circles to keep time with the music.
Somewhere that evening there must have been a power outage.