Hazel opened the door wearing a long brown sweater, a thick green scarf, and at least a dozen jangling bracelets. She ushered them into to a large room with three tapestry-covered couches and skylights filtering snowy light. The room contained many large paintings, most displaying women in various states of undress. The canvas of the fireplace shoed a woman who resembled Hazel, minus the freckles. Her hair curled like vines across her naked breasts.
I thought I had completely ruined this one several times. My darling husband, M, kept saying in a soothing voice, "There are no mistakes..." channelling Bob Ross. And later, Walter: "Nothing is fucked, Dude." Hair, man. It turns out hair is really hard. I'm going to try to avoid it in the future. There were a few "happy accidents" though. In the end, I kind of like how her hair came out, although I had many small temper tantrums along the way. I'm pretty happy with the neck, nose, and eyebrows, too. The background is not great, obs.