The decay of her flesh was that of a dried lichen, jaundiced and pale, but remotely beautiful. As in life, she was in death, or so I though to myself, as i dragged her body to the unruly grave i had unearthed earlier. Slowly I pulled her lovely face towards the hole, it's dirt marring her yellowed reflection. Oh! She was truly a loss to all the others, ones who would never know her kind touch, but I, ME, had lived it all, stolen it all, ended it all. She hadn't even screamed, nor resisted. She merely wept, silently, I like to think for my lost compassion, but I truly don't know.