"He is a boy of fine stature. So effeminate in nature. One leg overlapping another. Nails plastered with refined clear polish. Cheeks and lips powdered a light pink. And eyebrows thick in hair, thin in shape.
His skin is as translucent as a corpse; greatly white. What value is mercury to a boy whose face is quintessential for beauty. And his gold hair flows low. To his shoulders, it is slightly curly and smooth; It looks to be well cared for and prioritized. My dears, Louis Dauphin Of France is the standard!
Blue eyes like the azure morning sky. He is unrealistically real. And as so his penchant for miraculous fashion. With no lies, I proclaim, The Sun King's son has wonderful style! Perhaps one day you will gaze upon him in his laced heels. Of all colors and designs. ( Pink and white are his preference.) Or rather his leather boots, created and molded with exotic material others may find but only a boy like him could forever have. His socks will either be worn under or up to his breeches or rather over his pants that are longer in length. He is taken over by the sundry choices he has in his closet, every morning! Therefore, of course, everyday he shall be seen in something new and all the more flamboyant than yesterday's choice. The lengthy coats, about to a bit further down pass his knees, are always a sight to see. Noteworthy & pleasing to our eyes. Overwhelmed with foreign jewels and intricate patterns. Commonly, he flaunts a fine hat. Obviously, just as beautiful as all his other pieces. Separate from his clothing, he wears even more jewelry and precious stones. A boy like him—No! Only he could run a fashion show 2nd to a nation, though I digress."
Monica swapped a newspaper, flown from somewhere, from off the pebbled and soaked grounds. In result of the copious rainfall that hit the streets of France merely a few seconds before, Versailles took an rather forlorn & dull appearance. Monica read until she came unto an unfortunate halt; More interesting information awaited her that would never be studied by those hazel orbs again. Despite the excess of knowledge wrote on the paper, Monica's disloyal attention pulled away. "Say, I do wonder how the journalists could know so much about King Louis's son?" Monica thought aloud. "Private sources? Who may know? But can we acknowledge how mocking the last few words seemed?" Jocè responded. "They are journalists, you know? That is their job!" Hans answered with flying hands. Monica shrugged; the newspaper was no longer in conversation.
"Someone must tell me why the rain has been so persistent for so long!" Monica quietly, loudly & playfully complained. "Why the rain has been so persistent for so long!" Laurence yelled jokingly. Young purity, the entire group giggled. "Laurence, you aren't the funny man you think you are!" Monica responded. "Whatever do you mean? Did you not just hear all those laughs a minute ago?" Laurence smiled in the face of Monica as the group kept walking to an, seemingly, undecided destination. " Be true to yourself Laurence! We all know they laugh because of how bad your jokes are. That is a thing, you know?!" Monica smiled back. Whenever all of them were together, her heart pumped adrenaline. It was always so fun. So, so much fun and joy. "We must not move on as we get older." Monica asided.
\^o^/ (Note: An aside is whenever, typically in a play, a character speaks within their head; intended only for the audience to here. No other characters.)
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