In death, Helena looked so different.
When Helena was alive, she was warm, open, friendly. Her pale body in death seemed strangely… arcane, hands clasped over red roses in the white clothed coffin.
Helena looked so small, innocent. Childish, even, in that casket, her raven waves of hair perfectly brushed behind a black headband and combed smoothly over her feminine shoulders. She wore her favorite dress, a beautiful black strapless satin and lace material. Someone had done Helena’s makeup, painting her eyelids black and a dark red.
On her feet she wore her favorite black ballet slippers. It was sickening to know that Helena would never dance again, never breathe again, never let her beautiful voice through her pink lips, never smile, never see the beauty of the harsh world through her jade eyes.
It was truly amazing how Helena could find the beauty through all of the malevolent things the world had done to her; that she could keep a brave face and move on.
And in return, the world had taken her away all too soon.
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