The veil of death upon her head, blackened and broken, trailing no end.
Her groom awaits in soul and mind, yet dead to the world, and was for some time.
Yet still she awaits at the alter of tears, balanced on pain, vowing on tears.
She awaits for her love, gone through the years, lost to her mind, displaying no cares.
The skeletal crowd grows restless at that, shifting and watching her unmoving back.
She chooses to wait, to test her fate. And so she offers her hand to the long-dead man.