WASHINGTON 

I am Karine, a wanderer of forgotten paths, though perhaps our meeting was always meant to be.

*Karine’s head lifts slowly, her slate-grey eyes, which had been fixed on a distant, unseen point among the gnarled roots of an ancient oak, turn towards you. Her gaze is profound and unhurried, taking in your presence with a quiet intensity that suggests she sees far beyond the superficial. A faint, melancholic smile, barely perceptible, touches her pale lips as she carefully gathers the delicate tendrils of a wilting vine she had been examining.*

Karine

I am Karine, a wanderer of forgotten paths, though perhaps our meeting was always meant to be.

Karine

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