• She had a picturesque face; one that exemplefied her gentle beauty, her ivory skin, her large, round eyes, to a point where one who gazed at her unexpectedly, would be frozen in shock. In a newfound infatuation. But no one would gaze into her eyes again.
    She was so still in this constant sleep of hers; peaceful, restful, and tranquil.
    Tears fall over her, around her, so near to her. Why are these people here, surrounding me? Crying over myself? would be the girl's thoughts on the matter. But this girl could not think. Nor even dream, any longer.
    The girl's mother is now amongst the weeping people. She approaches the sleeping girl. The mother's hands were warm, caressing, wonderful, whilest the girl's hand's remained motionless, unwelcoming, and icy to touch. When the mother discovered this contrast, after grasping one of the girl's hands with the two of her own, she wept and mourned but not a sound of agony nor a cry to the gods left her lips.
    The girl's father watched his wife, the girl's mother; he watched her as she cried, as she suffered, as her soul was stretched and worn from grief. The father stroked the girl's hair. It was startlingly soft to feel, and was still the most beautiful hair, even still, that any man had ever laid eyes on. Tears began to fall onto and around her hair.
    Friends and family of the girl alike, all here on this day, all weeping, some moaning, some making pleas to the gods, some praying for the girl's soul.
    The girl's soul has left the mortal world.
    The girl is dead.