They were young once. Blood coursed through their veins. Air through their lungs. They had passions and fears. What were they thinking about? What did they want most? And did they ever get it?
Did posing liberate them? Condemn them? Or were they already wanton and discarded? Did the men who touched them ever feel gratitude?
What woman wouldn’t go back to her physical prime and capture it for posterity if she could? Beautiful. Every single last one of them.
I love them all.
Veneranda Jade 