She was an innocent. She -was- an innocent. In fact, she was quite a many thing. So very many things. And yet, she was nothing to anyone. At least nothing important. To anyone important. At least, not anymore. She was an innocent, 'was' being the operative word here. She was no longer much of anything now. She was a cold slab, lifeless and quiet, and oddly serene in the tranquil moment of death and dying. She was nothing to anyone, and now, it was certain, she never would be. Not anything any more than a corpse, and, eventually, a rotting one. Perhaps she would make some nice carrion. Either way, to be more frank about it all, she was dead.
Dead and beautiful. So beautiful. That blissful look, the ivory lick of color that came to her flesh before the bluer tones would take over, eyes peacefully having been closed, perhaps to hide the look of horror at seeing her own death, but they were closed. Even her lips were pressed together, perhaps not into a smile, but into a relaxed state, which in itself, was odd, for the rigormortis that had set in. But she was beautiful. Beautiful, innocent, and dead.
