Cora was loved too well by those who knew her to be called plain, though the casual observer might be so generous. Her coarse copper hair was always plaited back and covered, modestly befitting her position in service. She dressed in the common habit of the island maidens, a thin sleeveless linen dress wrapped and fastened over a cotton chemise; the materials soft from so many washings and falling in folds just past her knees. It was too short to be the dress of a woman and too long to be fit for a child. The white sleeves of her undergown were always rolled past her elbows, and the collar had been removed to let the material out for the growing girl. The belt at her waist had been made of spare bits of harness leather. The maiden’s skin was colored by the sun with dark freckles abundantly dotted her strong arms and hands, while her ears seemed to have half a mind to curve up into a point. Cora’s nose might have been called aquiline if the guileless face had been more defined instead of round and even, ridged only by high, broad cheekbones. Such scrutiny would have rewarded the perceptive, should they have been patient enough for the girl to lift her thoughtful eyes upon them. Her figure and features gave testimony to the steady, unsung heroes of trade and field, but the maiden’s eyes pierced with the whisper of something long past. Cora's right eye was a blazing golden green hazel of dying summer leaves, while her left eye beckoned in a dark, deep blue of the treacherous See more