blonde girl - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The girl was blond from root to tip, born to bring more golden sunshine into this world. It showed too. It showed in those soulful blue eyes as bright as any glacier yet so very warm.
She stepped out into the light, that girl with the blond hair, a thousand shades of gold that made new mosaics each moment in the warm summer air. I guess from afar you could say her soft curls were the colour of rich cream, but up close it was a chorus of hues.
Her blonde hair was poker-straight and pulled back into a low pony-tail. She wore little make-up and was often stern, rarely joining in the jokes of the other officers. To be taken seriously she didn't have to be their equal, she had to be better and beyond reproach. More than once she considered becoming a brunette, but in only a week the honeyed roots would be showing and she had no intention of looking old.
A tumble of blonde curl fell as she removed her winter toque. It wasn't that bland colour that's just a shade nicer than the white of old age, it was streaked with warm reddish hues and butterscotch. It gave her some warmth, complementing her pale face rather than making her look washed-out. Then as she turned to look my way I found myself surprised all over again, her eyes were not the watery blue I'd expected, they were the colour of caramel and so were the freckles that lay over her nose and upper cheeks.
Tessa had hair every girl dreamed of; thick, blonde, and just the right hint of wave.
The essences of summer, a goddess of the sun. Her golden hair draped down softly curling along the ends. Every time she appeared the day never ended and smiles never faded. She was a siren leading everyone to sudden happiness. The beauty with the forever young ocean blue eyes.
Against her black woollen jacket the girl's blonde hair was almost white. It fell to a straight line midway down her back, absolutely flat and shining in the spring light. When she turned her head it moved with her like a liquid and about her freckled face the shorter strands hung forwards to hide her eyes.
In another place, another time, perhaps the girl's ancestry would have been an advantage. Her skin was almost without pigment and her hair the most pale blonde possible, each strand almost translucent when seen on its own. But in the heat and sun she was covered head to toe in cloth to avoid burning and few could afford the light and beautiful silks.
Autumn's blonde hair tumbled forwards over her face, bleached whiter by the sun and looking more pale against her summer tan. With her longer hair she'd been in the habit of flicking it back or else tying it up, but with the shoulder length bob it simply moved all on its own.
The girl's blonde hair was about as natural as Gregor's British accent - both strained credibility. The coiffured golden strands turned a dull brown at the roots, though if they matched her brows and lashes you'd never know it. Neither of them had ever seen a face so heavily made up, especially on one so young.
For night patrol Jenna hid every strand of her blonde hair. Even one strand could reflect the light and give her position away. Her face she mudded up, even spreading the dark goo an inch past her hair-line.
In the market place she was as obvious as a flashlight in the dark, not from beauty, but because nobody in this place was pale like her. She wore the clothes of the region and spoke with a local accent. Folks said she was albino, others said she was abandoned by white parents in the gutter. Either way she didn't belong in that place, but nor could she survive anywhere else.
Her hair was like swirls of buttermilk.