She took out a lamp and her theatre make-up kit and walked up the road. The night was bitterly cold and she wore only a translucent white gown. Her body held no secrets in the dress, and it didn’t need to. All of her secrets were in her eyes, and the supplies she carried. There was no light for the clouds churned beneath the moon. Her bare feet made hardly a sound as she moved through the darkness, and her shadow cradled her steps.

Outside of the cemetery, she sat down. She lit the lamp and took out her kit. In the dim light she applied white face make-up, red lipstick, and intricate green designs around her eyes. She let down her hair and it cascaded over her shoulders, warming her a bit. After applying glitter and shine, she put out the lamp, closed the kit, and walked into the cemetery.

Once within its bounds, the air seemed to take on a new dimension of cold. Wind ripped through her hair and her numb feet faltered. Eyes closed, she continued her journey till she came to the grave she sought, at the far end of the cemetery under a tree. There rested James Tyrone Brooke, and atop his marker, withered roses. She knelt down before the tombstone, and kissed the dry grass. With both of her hands on the ground, she said, “I have tried, my beautiful one. You must know I tried. It’s been a year, but all the days are gray.” The last leaves of fall fell over her and nestled in her hair, and she cried. The tears were scalding on her cheeks. Gripping the grass, she laid down over the grave, her legs tucked up to her stomach. “I lay here as the Queen of the Fey. I am beautiful, and will not die. You will rise and be my king, and it will be eternal May. The wind will stroke us warmly, the moon will illuminate our way, and the flowers will sing us their songs.” She petted the grass, and opened her eyes to darkness. Her lips trembled, and her body scrunched up tighter in an effort to conserve its last shred of heat. She gripped the grass and whispered, “I’ve forgotten. What is a dream? What is joy? I knew once, but don’t anymore.”

The wind ripped through the cemetery and the first snowflakes of winter fell. Unprotected, she lay herself out for them. Her body felt heavy and cold, and she closed her eyes.

In the morning a thin layer of snow covered her like a blanket of white, and she never rose from it.