Posted by Deead Leslie on January 21, 2002 at 01:07:43:
Portrait of a Bride
Her raven hair tumbled down from her head, across the satin pillow and down her bare shoulders. Her face was pale, but not the unhealthy color it had been for her last week. Now she no longer seemed tired and gaunt, but serene, an ethereal beauty enfolding her like a shroud. Her eyes were close, thier long lashes lying gently on her rounded cheeks. Her full lips were a stunning burgandy, but the slight part they maintined in life was no longer aparent.
The stiff, pink nipples that sat atop her smallish breasts made little peaks in the ivory silk of her dress. It hugged the gentle curve of her belly, and hips, hiding, and yet tantalizing with the shape of her womanhood beneath its virginal folds. The length of silk enfolded her to her ankles, only then revealing the lilly white stockings that covered her legs.
The mortician gently lifted first one, and then the other of her small feet, and with some difficulty due to her stiffness, slipped a pair of open-toed sandals on them. He took her hands and crossed them on her stomach, their deep red nails complemented by the single rose she now held.
He looked at her again, and his mouth watered. There she lay, surrounded in satin, and shrouded in silk, wearing only the dress, stockings and heels. Such a waste. So tragic to lose one so beautiful, and so young.
The casket lid was closed, covering her beauty in darkness. He hoped that death would enjoy his new bride.