Looking at her hand, the word that springs to my mind is 'ingenue': its petiteness, fragility and perfect grooming convey a kind of pre-raphaelite dangerous innocence.
Or maybe it's just me being paranoid. I never wear rings: it's a love-hate story between my fingers and them. I really like them, particularly big mineral rings in colourful stones set in silver filigrees: this kind of wild exotic statement pieces, I adore... But try to slide one on my finger and I'll go ballistic: I don't know if it's the roundness of it, the unity, or the inescapable symbolism it entails, but the tight touch of the metal wrapped around my ring finger gives me cold sweats. Total claustrophobia!
Having said that, isn't her hand marvellously delicate? She seems to be carrying summer on it.
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