Abigail has long been my favourite. It belongs to a quiet,
hard working girl with a dark edge and an air of mystery about her. Her hair is
long, brown and lustrous, and her chestnut eyes carry the qualities of knowing
and dreaming in equal measure. Abi says little, but she gets whatever she needs
with seeming ease and you return her stare at your peril. If you hear her calling you from a distance in the night, you try to go back to sleep and hope for the best. She would be at home in an M Night Shyamalan film, ensconced
within the deep, dark woods of remotest Pennsylvania.
Isabella is my second favourite. Her raven hair falls
naturally in waves, and she is thought to be the strongest evidence to date of
the rumoured liaison between a maternal ancestor and a Spanish prisoner of war
in Napoleonic times. She is quiet too, but more from pride and
self-consciousness than mystery. She speaks when she wishes to and not until,
and her sharp hazel eyes are ever capable of ensnaring those who think
themselves impervious to ensnarement. Bella would be at home ruling some
colonial mansion set deep in the bayous of Louisiana.
Aisling is my third favourite. She is a minx, a leprechaun,
a sly yet principled little weaver of honest mischief. Her wayward, flame-red hair
sets light to those whose suspicions she arouses, while her deep blue eyes
could tickle a daisy one minute and blow the moon from its orbit the next. She
has a temper that is quick to rise and quick to fall, and a laugh like the
shyest of sirens competing with the gale. Ash belongs on the sea cliffs of
Connemara where the wild Atlantic rages,
content to be alone and daring the elements to subdue her spirits.
So there you have it. Come to think of it, I’ve never known a
Phoebe either, but that’s probably just as well since Phoebe isn’t a favourite.
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