She wore black. Boots, pants, shirt, cardigan, scarf, gloves, wrapped around her body like that goddamn skintight uniform. Her damp, dark hair glittered like jet against the pale skin of her cheekbones. Twin platinum locks flowed from her widow�s peak past her chin, accentuating her delicate, dark eyebrows and wide, dark eyes. Her lips were the one bit of color in her face, the deep red of crushed blackberries. No simpering pinks or mousy browns for Marie, no sir. Logan reached out and pushed a lock of hair out of her face. �So how does Frosty like the Goth look?� "In the darkness, it's hard to see her face"

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