Annabelle wasn't your typical Civil War woman. She wasn't your typical townsman's daughter. Nor was she even the regular traveling stranger. She was a woman, barely out of her teens in appearance, that knew how to get exact what she wanted... and nothing could stop her once she had a goal. Coming apon James River, Virginia Anneabelle didn't fear the war, nor the men that hooted and hollered at her and her court. She knew she was beautiful; of coarse she was. Along with the other woman roughly her age and the mother-like figure of the group with small daughter in tow the group was absolutely stunning. They sat high upon thier carriage, three beautiful midnight thoroughbred stallions pulling it effortlessly despite the burden of three young ladies, small child, and their luggage. Annabelle sat in the coach's seat, reins in hands. Her hair was down in thick, iridescent spirals over her shoulders and down her narrow spine, pooling around her on the seat. She had creamy, milk-white skin and dark, Egyptian desert princess eyes that burned like green fire behind thick lashes. Her dress fell in incredible folds around her, a dark velvet of emerald and black lattice. They had traveled for days to reach the small town, in search of a legend. A legend that could allow these women to walk in the light.
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