There she lay.
Dressed in flowing white and blue, her favorite colors. The wind toyed with her hair, teasing it to cover her closed eyes. Her nails, a pale summer pink, rested in contrast with the green grass. Could she see herself now, like in a mirror?
A bunch of red roses lay near her, dripping with dew drops. She used to carry the fragrance of roses on her, and even the slightest scent of a rose would send her into raptures. Could she smell the roses on the grass near her now?
A cuckoo sang. A frog cheered. Water rippled nearby, gushing with passive determination and an ultimate sense of purpose. The wind and the dry leaves strewn on the grass rose together in deep throaty passion, kissed the stars and whirled in circles back to the grass. She was one with nature, could she hear its calls now?
The soft silk of her gown embraced the gently pointed grass beneath, forming a bed worthy of the Princess and the Pea. Stray leaves tickled her bare feet, tinkling her brass anklet. The wind caressed her face, lifting away the furrowed brows and drying her tears. Could she feel her nurturer’s reassurance now?
The mist was a stream of dainty faeries with nectar-filled urns. They touched her lips with a feather dipped in honey, smoothed her skin with wine. She used to say she tasted through both her mouth and her skin- could she taste any of their ministrations now?
She used to say that the brain was her sixth sense. What was it thinking now? What ghosts haunted it, what angels uplifted it? Was she troubled, or was she in the bliss she sought far and wide? Did it sort itself out, or was it as complicated as before? Her brain was her only constant companion, could she converse the language of gray cells now?
There she lay.