She lies there in her beautifully carved mahogany box, as still as a butterfly frozen in ice. She has lost her physical beauty. Her cheeks are pale - not so much of a tint of pink is visible, her lips are cracked and deep dark purple - the subtle bright red has long gone and her closed eyes sit in the middle of sunken black rings. I cover my face with my palms and close my eyes. I try to push that image out of my mind and attempt to replace the soulless face with a cheeky smile, bright glimmering eyes and rosy round cheeks. I try to imagine her laughter, her playful personality, her s…
