Scarlet was French. She had shiney, straight, brunette hair, a sly smile, and those fabulous cheekbones from saying, "Merci" to all her fans, who followed her sweet, sultry performances. Ah... the life of a Chantuesse. Of course her songs were mostly of loves lost...and she worried that since she'd finally found the man who truly "saw" her, and was about to be carried off on the back of his black steed, wearing her sleek satin gown, that she might lose the emotions behind those songs that had been her life. She worried and worried, until finally she thought, "Which is the worst of these agonies...to have that "something is missing" feeling or to lose her great understanding of what it is to be "blue"? She said "OK...I will". Although it looked like tapastry, in fact her exquisite purse was made of a durable acrylic resin. The elegantly beaded strap was detachable so that she carried it as a clutch when she dined...yet it was long enough to slip over her shoulder and neck when she was on the run, or on the back of a running horse. It was wide enough to carry her full sized black pencil...weaponry for a songwriter...ever prepared for the moment when it hit, and she dropped everything to scrawl the idea down. Room enough for her cel phone, lipstick, and so beautiful, she didn't really even need a necklace.
