" A chill settled over Birdie. She had caught glimpses of her face before—once in the watering trough in the Sylvan Swan’s stable after she had given it a good scrubbing, another time in the birch-shaded pool beside the road to Hardale. There was no doubt that the face on the parchment resembled her own, but there were slight differences. It was older than the face she remembered, older than she could look now. Stunning in a way one was not likely to forget. But there was something about the eyes that captivated her, caused her to reach out her hand and trace the line of one arching brow.
Such strength there, such confidence.
This was not the face of one with fear caged in her chest. "

― Gillian Bronte Adams