" They dunked their clothes into the grotto and scrubbed them against the rocks to leach out the grime, including his calf bandage. The fool wrestled with a stubborn stain that wouldn’t disappear from her shift. Frustrated, she puffed her lower lip. Of a normal girl, the picture would have been rather cute.
Well. What girl yearned to be called cute, a classification associated with pups. A word he had never uttered or assigned. Notwithstanding, “cute” ill-suited her. She was many things. Volatile. Hotheaded. Reckless. But not cute. Those golden irises and calamitous hands were not cute. "

― Natalia Jaster ,