In all of her years, she remained a testament to herself, the ocean spray she breathed and spring winds that held her lungs full.
Two koi tied with bright turquoise yarn led her to the sea of glass; she would often glare at past reflections of herself.
She would recount tales she never lived but remembered every moment as if she had.
Fog, like a lover, wrapped itself around her, preening its dead fingers over her lips, bruised from nibbling on it until it bled and mended itself again.
Her hands found blades of grass, long, thick emerald shards as sharp as paper cuts and as dainty as frozen dew. Mud hugs at her heels as she walked barefoot over unmarked paths.
She watched, she breathed, and then she slept until the broken sun rose again.