It was the way her hair --- white and wispy -- curled around her cheekbones. Her features were soft, but her eyes were electric. They were so blue, they could penetrate you from a thousand miles away, but, even worse when she was angry, the blue turned so intense it was as if it would be a sin to look away. She rarely grew angry, however, for most of the time she was bathed in sunlight and warmth. Her skin was made of a delicate porcelain, her hands smooth and gentle. Her teeth were a milky white, and, her tongue, a cherry red. When you got close to her, you could smell her fruity scent; a mixture of kiwis and strawberries. She was so tender, so kind, it was surprising to see her dressed all in black, wearing a somber face with the only hint of color being the red on her hands. You would want to ask what happened, but maybe you already knew, as you could see the tufts of brown hair tangled in her fingers. Looking into her eyes, you could see a vacancy, she looked so lost it made your soul hurt. Her once electric eyes, now a dull grey. Her skin was ashen and cracked, and her teeth were now discolored. A single tear cascaded down your cheek as you saw her crumple to the ground. She lay there, like a withered flower, decaying softly before your eyes. You knew her lover had had an affair, but could she have acted on revenge? The same very girl who saved a bunny from a hunter’s trap? But, it was clear, with her palms stained red, as she lay deteriorated on the ground, that she had hurt someone. You go to her and you comfort her. You try and dig information out of her, but she doesn’t even know what she’s done. You shake her, repeatedly. You get out fragments of sentences, words circling around death. She spits out blood and looks at you, eyes filled with vengeance and hatred, and, with a sense of fragility leaving her, you walk away.