She ran a hand through the tousled hair of sleeping Stephan. In retrospect, it had been clear
from the moment he first showed her the dress, fragmentary as it
then was. She glanced at where it lay crumpled on the floor, discarded in the moment's passion,
and sighed quietly.
She loved him, yes, but she did not own him, not the way that she owned the beautiful white dress, which would be hers forever. Even after she and he had passed to dust.
She smiled wanly, like a ghost, and slept.