The steam from the shower had done little to warm the ice in Ruby's veins. When she stepped back into the bedroom, the room felt different.
The black dress was waiting.
It lay across the white duvet like a scar. Ruby stared at it, her breath hitching. To her, this wasn't just fabric, it was a surrender. As long as she stayed in her white silks, her mother was still alive. Putting this on made the nightmare a reality. Every time she looked at this dress in the future, she knew it would smell of lilies and cold stone.
She pulled it on. The fabric was heavy, dragging against her skin. She scraped her hair back into a tight, severe bun, refusing the comfort of jewelry or the mask of makeup. In the mirror, her face was pale, her eyes sunken and bruised with exhaustion, yet her beauty remained, now sharpened and haunting, like a statue carved from grief.
She stepped into her black heels, the sharp click of the soles against the floor sounding like a countdown.
