A/N: I wrote this the other night after not being able to fall asleep. I haven't written anything for just the pure sake of writing something in a rather long time. I had this idea running through my mind and told myself that I must write it down. I hope that you, my darling reader, enjoys it. Reviews are very much loved.
As always, I do not own anything but the idea for the story.
Beauty in Death
Undertaker set down the needle and wax string and stood back to admire his latest guest. Laying on the embalming table was a young lady, two and twenty years of age with flowing dark chestnut hair and slender frame. She had met her maker by way of a dreadful case of pneumonia, surrounded by her family who had wept bitterly at her untimely passing. No, not untimely, the mortician mused. We are all destined to fall into the eternal slumber at some point, so does the time in which it occurs really make a difference? Time is a relative thing, anyway, especially for one who has lived through so many moons. He had seen many like her come through his humble shop and fall victim to his scythe.
Despite her agonizing demise she wore an expression of serenity on her lips, thanks to how craftily he had sewn her jaw closed. The pigment in the embalming fluid had given her back some of her lost color, but her skin still resembled alabaster. Undertaker traced one long black finger nail along her finely defined jaw line, causing her head to tilt slightly and thus causing some of her dark locks to fall across her face. He swept them away, smiling to himself, and tilted her head back to its former position. Noticing a stark contrast of crimson against her pallid complexion, he carefully wiped away a smudge of blood from her neck left over from when he had drained the fluid from her body to make way for the pink-hued, preservative chemicals.
He lifted one of her frail hands in his and placed the back side of her hand against his own cheek, marveling at the cool smoothness of it, much life fine marble. The feeling sent a shiver up his spine and he giggled gleefully. He kissed her hand gently and then placed it back at her side. Even without the cosmetics that he would soon be applying to her visage before she was to be laid out, in his eyes she was so much more lovely and so much more perfect than her living counterparts. Her lovely lily complexion and tongue silenced forever from making any unflattering blathering made her all the more attractive than any of those who still breathed air. Yes, Undertaker thought, giggling madly to himself again, even though his hand-crafted coffin and arsenal of chemicals would not perpetually preserve her from the ravages of worms and rot, death was a beautiful thing.