As she festered in the clotted ceremonial, it was clear that she -
Her, female, woman -
Was not what the bereaved father had expected, yet she was everything he intended to comprehend.
Voluptuous  body, arms outstretched to the nearest point - one foot in front of the other - she dwindled, mingled and, with the occasional sultry laugh, charmed.
Biting down on her crimson lips - the lips that dripped with the analysis of the night - she made her way -
Carefully, gracefully, seductively -
To the man with the iron fingernails, the father of the dead.
Offering sorrow in her words, solemn gestures with her hands, she gently stroked his cheek.
"Death is overrated. Life is understated."
She delicately filtered back to the women in the tight clothing, revealing succulent, perky *******, but hiding them just so that the father could not derive any more pleasure.
"Goodbye, my concubine. May God render your path."