Lily looked shocked by her own death – those polychromatic eyes frozen in surprise – her lips parted as if gasping at a particularly scandalous secret. But beneath her flower crown and halo of golden hair, a pool of blood had blossomed. She was lying on her side, in the foetal position, with one arm outstretched as if she were reaching towards something – or someone – unseen.
Her matching lace top and skirt were still a pristine white. Both seemingly spared from the blood that had slowly drained from the deep wound on her temple. Had her head not been resting in the gelatinous red pool, I may have never even noticed the injury, hidden beneath her curls…








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