If one were to describe her, they would probably start with the most blatantly obvious thing.
They would tell you she was beautiful.
Heart-wrenchingly, gut-twistingly, throat-dryingly so.
They’d tell you that if you were a red-blooded young man, of say about nineteen years old, and you caught her looking at you, you’d find your heart thumping and your mind blanker than a southern sky.
Then, after a good long detailed explanation of her beauty, because people tended to dwell on such things, they’d tell you about what she was like…