They were indisputably beautiful, with hair of all texture and faces as smooth as a baby's skin.
Yet their beauty was a foreign one.
The woman leading the group was the most magnificent of all. She had beautiful chocolate skin that shimmered with it's smoothness. Her eyes were the colour of lavender and as she grinned, a set of perfect white teeth glinted in the sun-light.
Yet her lips were painted startling pink, with a crimson outline and a green streak through the middle. Her eyes were framed by heavy black-lashes and violet lids. Her cheeks were smudged perfectly with a colour that should have been a pearly sky-blue - but instead it was much brighter, bolder, more intense. Her hair was blue-black, braided intracately into a crown that stayed rigid, even as she walked.
And what clothed the beauty?
A huge yet plain canary-yellow cloak enveloped the woman's neck, then flowed out to cover her arms, legs and torso. Only her bare feet (slender and perfect), her head and her long, dainty hands were spared from the cloak.
Behind her were masses of men and women, all clothed in the same cloak, all with a surprising style of make-up caking their faces - some had the same colour throughout their face, and others had the same crazy - yet gloriously perfect - make-up idea as their leader.
And suddenly, they all dropped their cloaks in one swift movement, ceasing the walking they had been doing.
What they had underneath their cloaks stunned all.