How carefully she is shuttering her heart, with pastel paper eyelids tightly drawn against the Sun and his every brilliant son. But, like a woman behind a white silk screen, the glow of life reveals her fragrant form as she slowly does her lonely pirouettes. So lovely and so alone. So very lovely. So very alone.
Bravely, she begins to hum a song heard once in Bacchanalian reveries. Her voice, as pure as snowflakes, flutters down into the open mouths of forgotten dreams. Sated,they sigh behind her milky *******, where abstracted fingertips draw complex maps. So beautiful and so sad. So very beautiful. So very sad.
On Mount Olympus, marble eyes and hearts turn towards the sorrow pouring from her lips, disguised as sweet remembrances of love. The marble hearts all crack with tenderness and tip their rhytons filled with halcyon to bathe her in sweet Lethean repose. So silent and so still. So very silent. So very still.