<div class="floatleft">(http://www.haifawehbe.me/gallery/large/Haifa_Wehbe014.jpg)</div>Name: Emmanuelle Fabbri<br/>Location: Cemetary to the streets of Paris<br/>Tagged: Anyone<br/><br/>Tissue softly touched the eyes of the olive skinned woman.  A slight brush of the material to keep the wetness from breaking the line of her makeup was all she required.  The artist hired to do such work would not be pleased her work was tarnished so quickly in the day.  Eyes of a crystal blue lifted from the gesture, peering out across those assembled.  Dark lines of makeup made the eyes even more startling in contrast especially when taken against her darker complexion and black hair.  The eyes had always been a way to catch another’s attention, to hold them and bring them without even a hint of effort.  So she spent a good deal of effort in their decoration.<br/><br/>The woman’s hair was pinned up properly for this event.  Dark curls constrained with a myriad of pins.  Pearls and silver glittered from within the folds, adding a hint of sophistication to a rather simple ensemble.  A darker shade of gray made up her height with black lace and veils wrapped along the wide brim, the bits of material fluttering before her face.  Painted lips were folded in an image of grief, fine lines showing themselves beneath the makeup.  There was pain there, pain from a loss that could not be replaced so easily as many things.  Emmanuelle had learned of loss in her time but so rare to lose something so old and timeless as an immortal gentleman.<br/><br/>Duncan would not fight a woman.  A serene sentiment that immediately endeared Emmanuelle to the man.  She might fall in the battle for immortality, but his sword would never have been the one to do so.  He would defend her, he would stand with her and he would laugh with her.  They had teased each other through the centuries.  Never had they shared a bed, but they had shared many adventures and hidden touches together.  The hunt always so much better than the feast she would joke to him.  Pity then that someone had taken the meal from her lips and robbed her of ever knowing.  The thought made her eyes water once more.  Around her body the dark linen shivered with a shudder of her shoulders.  Business casual perhaps, but the black and gray were of the finest quality any could procure.  The cut set so that her curves were a faint outline instead of standing to attention.  Circumstance simply did not call for a show of the body here.<br/><br/>When the time came to pass the coffin, her willpower failed her.  Many a husband she had laid to rest in this manner.  Duncan was not one of them, nor would he ever have been.  Too often she had taken the widow’s place to do so without cause.  Let another woman take their place at his side.  Instead she moved away from the crowd and away from the others of her kind.  Already she knew that some would be waiting, seeking to pick off stragglers if they presented themselves easy targets.  Around her the city still bustled as Paris was known to do.  Around her the crowd would serve as protection until her sword could be in easy reach.<br/>