Death of a Muse
Solemn and faceless they bore her coffin in from the cold, listless morning. It was early, yet, and the chapel had not yet filled, but I knew that before long even the standing room would be crowded. The pallbearers paused with the strength of ritual, and placed the mahogany box like an altar at the front of the church. The rich wood gleamed brilliantly with the kiss of sacred candlelight. As well it should shine, as it would be a closed casket service. The air was stifling with the scent of...