2011, the winter is chilling and the nights are long. The basement of the dungeon locks away my beauties, my salves and my loves. Lady Loch Lomond, curling her body into the most unseen corner of the cell. It has been… 15 years? That old seared mark on her waist is the prove of imprisonment. Clothes were rusty, hairs were dry as straws and skin covered with mud and dirt, but none of these can concealed her royal temperaments.
Dragging her way from the dungeon I have tonight; like a sacrificing lamb to God, she wasn’t resisting. Amber-gold coloured, her hair is almost indistinctive to a premium quality Manuka honey, sweet and attractive. The old English royal toffee aromas once again concurs her noble descendancy. Maybe her veins run with the pride of French Louis the king? My Baron’s mouth of devil has sensed a trace of French cognac somewhere hidden in this liquid of gold.
She came in without an age statement, is it worth 15 years of waiting? Perfected by time, the unison of two’s flesh and spirit was amazing; I believe I have found my answer. However, this royal duchess doesn’t have the sluttish character in her bones that lingers a man’s soul with the feminine charm.
