She was ahead of her time when ladies wore hoop skirts that could eclipse the sun. She preferred spikes against curly tendrils, charcoal for mascara, and leather pantaloons for nightly strolls. Tea was for the submissive palate, she liked coffee, strong, hot and bitter. She never bowed to anyone, not even to men brave enough to approach her. Society made her an oddity, something that should be a fixture to a Catholic Church’s drainage. Dark, hidden from pure but dull eyes; prudes she called them all. She was every man’s fantasy in a world filled with appearances, with anybody who’s anyone, with their quiet yet boring lives whose only duty was to produce an heir to succeed the family name. Love wasn’t in the clause nor fidelity. Smoke, mirrors, strained smiles and painful curtsies hide the lives they wish they had.