Portrait
She had been waiting inside his doorway, her hair chained in jewelry and skin masked in cosmetics, as still and pretty as a picture. He had dropped everything and rushed to her side, crying that his little dear was wearing the things he had bought her!
He had embraced her warmly, but when she did not respond his grip had loosened. Although it was the first time she had been active in weeks, Melodia was still...
He let the portrait fall. It landed in the fire, and soon the rosy-cheeked, trinket-wearing child became ash.
At least she had looked pretty.