The soft background, dark with shades of brown. The lighting warm and sparse, it was only her that stood out. The music was muffled as were all the other voices. I saw her lips move slowly. Her lips, painted with a crimson red contrasted sharply with the soft rounds of her face and her tender tan, showing that her roots were Latin, but that was in the past. She fell in perfectly in the metropolis where she lived. By no means of exceptional stature, by all means respected and highly regarded.

Those lips, their movements magical, almost sensual as she spoke of her work, the lives of the people she touched. A grace exuded beyond her petite stature. I tilted my head towards her as best I could to listen and capture every word, though my eyes never left the sight of her lips. Her soft jawline cast a shadow on her vest, an ocher yellow, fitting for the springtime. Covering her shoulders and part of the dark flower dress. Her hair a medium brown, this too hinting at her Latin roots, a small wave as they ended halfway between her jawline and her shoulders. Playfully dancing an optimistic waltz accompanied by her engaging stories.

Her smile unable to hide the reward from a patient saved, the satisfying conclusion to a gripping story. Almost ashamed at her own achievements. Though my mouth couldn't hide my smile either, sharing a fraction of the same glee. She was coy in tucking her hair behind her ear, exposing the way her perfect jawline moved further back and her hair, tan and deep shadow cast by the warm light all but merged into a creamy chocolate center. Not tempting enough to take my eyes off those crimson lips, caught onto her, mesmerized by their movements, captivated by the stories they told, hungry for more.