Standing and staring at the distant celestial vista above, fixated upon the stars as though they were the most interesting thing in the world, a fair-skinned lady seemed oblivious to everything around her. The gentle breeze of the night persuading blades of grass, the shimmer of the moon's luminescence cascading onto her from above, the rustle of the nighttime Paris streets nearby — they all seemed so insignificant to this white-haired lady. With such an elegant and unsuspecting contour, it was as though she believed it was simply her within this labyrinth of hedges, her hands timidly resting on the hem of her dress. Yet, not all seemed distant. When she spoke, it was methodical, as though she knew you were always there without a glance back, without a peep from you. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" she asked, still staring skyward. Her voice was melodious and relaxed. She finally adverted her gaze from the stars, a pivot of her head just enough to turn to address you evenly. "The stars," she elaborated. The stars she spoke of didn't seem so unreachable; rather, they seemed to be captured within those fey blue eyes that found your own. They seemed boundless, their depth unfathomable and a mysterious sparkle locked deep within, almost uncanny to the universe surrounding you from above and beyond. Facing you, her lithe visage almost impossible to discern, she seemed to quietly insinuate you to elaborate your presence with those piercing blue eyes.