She stands elegantly poised,
Finger brushing cheek,
Leaning her weight on her left leg.
A golden staff was half hidden,
Behind to bright carnation pink gown.
Her bare feet just peeking out the bottom.
She looks effortlessly beautiful.
Goddess-like, confident, but mysterious as well.
She was hoping the painter could capture the realism.
She stares as through looking off, at an unknown distance.
She looks disapprovingly at it,
Something was wrong.
Her beautiful features are overcome with horror,
Her bare feet falter as she tries to escape.
She tangles herself in the drop curtain behind her.
Her frantic movements inhibit her freedom.
Looking up, face ashen.
Time freezes, she's trapped.
The painter makes the last stroke of the painting,
Entertaining a wicked smile.
How's that for realism?
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