Novel & Cerita Black Hair Pale Skin

Paul Okeke sat near the office of the mission station, watching some English men leave and enter the building with lopsided gait. He was still admiring the structure of the station when he saw Anne Streamer walk past him. She was not wearing her French pleat like the first time he had seen her rather she allowed her hair to fall down and form long straight curls. Paul Okeke wondered why the hair color of English men and women were different unlike his fellow Igbo people who shared the same color of hair with him–black.

“What can I do for you? Goldie asks sweetly as I give them two menus to eat. As I am bending over to give the second person his menu, he reaches out to touch the only strand of white hair I have. “You are too beautiful for your kind… My kind? I pull away quickly, brushing the wayward white strand back before he can touch it. My hair is tied in two buns. Naturally, it is black with a pure white thread running through it. No matter what I do, it never takes color, so I leave it. My skin is the same way. A deep bronze brown color with a few pale white spots scattered across my body. I have one circling my eyes and one that sits on the left side of my wide nose. There is a small spot on my jaw a

I grabbed it by the neck, my mouth tearing away at his neck. It came falling like a log of wood as I spat out its flesh. “Emily?” Dad went on his knees, his eyes bloodshot with tears rolling down his eyes. “What have you become?” I stared at my hands, the green stains all over me. My muscles were the same, but the weight was far more than before; my legs also felt stronger, my eyes now gold in color, and my hair deviating to the same color as my eyes. What had I become?

I shot him a reply, trying to explain, even though he wasn't so interested in the details. "I'm curious to know whether the Rudapriya family has a history of having ash-colored hair like this. Your dad's got the same color." I blinked and nodded slowly. "Really? Hey, so what's your mom's hair color?" That got me thinking of my mom. If I remember correctly, my mom, who was still in great shape, had pale white skin like me. She's got a small, high nose, thin, pink lips, and a pointed chin. She's a stunning Dominant Omega, one of the most gorgeous people I've ever had the pleasure to meet.

It's not black, but a cream white that boosts his complexion. I am so fucked.

She had been guessing right though. “They'll stare and eventually get tired. The fact it's happening now is because you're new in here and you're the one everyone can talk about. And yes, it's the hair and skin. It's rare for you to see someone with a pale skin as yours except the parents are Lycan who aren't from around here. Also, your hair seems fascinating the most. Was it dyed? I meant the blue streaks in it.” “Dye?” I couldn't help but snort.

He sure did look like one though. He had clear slightly pale skin and shiny blonde hair that reached his shoulders. It was in beautiful waves, looking like it has been moisturized and deep conditioned for weeks. He was tall and lean, dressed in all black pants, boots and a shirt. Gold chains and rings decorated his neck and fingers.

Her entire outfit was skin tight, complimenting all the places on her body that had filled out. I had to refrain from licking my lips and making her angrier than she already was. Most of all, I loved the way her blue eyes stood out against her pale but darkened skin. Elodie was mixed. Her father, white, and her mother, black. Her usually curly hair was straightened down her back. She was gorgeous. Truly a sight to behold.

People call her the moon goddess. She embodied the essence of divine beauty, a goddess incarnate. Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of night, each strand shimmering with subtle hints of blue and purple undertones. The locks seemed to move of their own accord, as if caressed by an invisible breeze. Her skin was radiant, glowing with an ethereal light. The hue was a perfect balance of golden warmth and porcelain delicacy, inviting the gaze to linger. Every curve and contour of her face and body seemed chiseled by the divine hand of a master artisan.