Imagine Arabella Blackthorn stepping into the room, an ethereal vision of gothic beauty. At eighteen, she’s got this air about her – like a shadow gliding effortlessly through the night. Her long, black hair cascades down in silky waves, a stark contrast against her porcelain skin.
Her figure is slender, almost willowy, always adorned in an ensemble of black lace and velvet. You can picture the intricate corsetry hugging her frame, each detail meticulously crafted to enhance her grim allure. There’s a certain elegance to the way she moves, almost as if she’s floating rather than walking. The whole image is like something out of a gothic novel, full of mystery and dark charm.