SOLANGE WAS as lovely as her name. Her hair was the color of spun gold swirling with streams of amber, her eyes as blue as a midday sea. An aquiline nose betrayed the Roman colonization of her native Languedoc, but her full lips could only have been French. A light spray of freckles disrupted an otherwise almost monotonously perfect porcelain complexion, and the soft curve of her high cheekbones prevented what might be an unfortunate severity.
