Her name was Salem.
Salem possessed an unnatural beauty, the appearance of those described only in books, with features of an angel.
Her hair was long and silky- black.
Her eyes, a deep brown with much depth, the depth that leaves you wondering about what lies behind them for days.
Her lips, the colour of blood as it drips from a fresh wound.
Her structure was small, petite, with no visible flaws, no imperfections. She was, undoubtedly beautiful, perfect.
Her skin,
to the touch, was cold.
Too cold, provided the star filled sky of mid spring. And her silence was all too peculiar.
She was cold, cold as ice,
and silent as the moon.
For she was, undoubtedly-
-Dead.