I first notice her shoes.
The heel on her left shoe. Substantial. Contacting the ground with stability.
And her right shoe. The delicate way its laces peek out from beneath her dress…a dress with sleeves flowing from elbow to thigh.
And her lyre.
An antiquated instrument often depicted with 7 strings but her’s has only 5. Or, at least, it has fittings for 5 strings if it ever had strings at all. Which brings into focus the name on the gravestone behind her. “Strang” the past-tense of string.
I smile, bemused, wondering if anyone else would notice such a thing.