Rosie Wilde
The Modern Gentleman's Sweetheart​​

Hello, stranger.

Have you ever spotted, out of the corner of your eye, a girl reading on the train--legs crossed in imitation of a perfect gentlewoman--and wondered what she was like behind closed doors? She is that girl, pulling up her tall black stockings with an impish smile and looking you dead in the eye.

Playful.
Coy.
Coquettish.

Anything but ordinary.
​​

​...
Chance.
Happenstance.
Serendipity?
(Most Honorable Lady Luck)
Predestination.
A cosmic conspiracy;
The celestial dance of heavenly bodies.
Divine providence?
Fate.

Really, it was inevitable.
You are drawn like a moth to her eternal flame.

Our paths have doubtlessly touched tangentially many times in many places


(the Devil will appear to you as the most beautiful creature you can imagine, and always at a crossroads)

[enter R, stage left]

"It was lust at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight."

[tall, trim, a perennial Valentine. Long white legs,

raven-black hair]

A demure fleur du mal. Une belle de l'heure bleue.

[A red cupid's bow  below two grey eyes]

A lady of leisure and light virtue.

Shimmering in the heat of New York, a nymph of the pavement.

Utterly devoted to celebrating each moment of life

(and each exquisite petite mort it is bound to bring).
...


An unrepentant romantic, reticent iconoclast, sweet fleur fatale, contrarian par excellence, American rose, Jewish jezebel, tattooed tramp, Byronic heroine, damsel errant & all-natural anachronist.


With a heart of gold & tongue of silver.