She is becoming well-known. People first fell in love with her face when they saw her cousins' paintings. These cousins painted her in meadows, ethereal in white gowns with gold in her hair. They painted her as tragic heroines, beautiful in cobalt, with the last drops of poison still red on her lips. And now, everyone is falling in love with her words, too; her poems are featured regularly in the Magazine Formerly Known as the London Magazine. She writes of worlds that can only be visited in honey-dreams; mirror-still lakes and wild funereal flowers, twilit faerie dances and poisoned ruby apples.

She's entrancing, and everyone wants to be close to her. Tortured artists especially seek her out to share their confidences; you will be there when she needs a confidant in her turn.