She entered the room at 7:16 AM, passing through the locked door. The woman was dead, and her ghost was restless.
She was stunning to behold. Truly a vision as she moved across the floor, graceful and elegant. What music she heard, I could only guess, for it was music for her damaged ears and for her alone.
My heart ached at the sight of her. Not because of the beauty of her form, but because of what she had suffered before she died.
Blood leaked from both ears, and given the status of her eyes, I suspected she had been deafened. Her eyes were gone. Gouged out holes where nothing but blood remained. When she passed by me, she opened her mouth and smiled, and I saw her tongue was gone as well. Torn out at the root.
Between her breasts was a single knife wound, the hallmark of a long, slim blade. Her death, at least, had been quick.
I like to think she died before the torment, that the marks and mutilations were wrought upon her flesh after the knife to the heart.
But I doubt it. There is too much blood in the ears and where the eyes once were. Too much around the incision between her breasts.
I wonder what crime, if any, she committed, and whether it could truly have been deserving.
For three hours, I watched her dance, and then she left as quietly as she had arrived. I suspect I will see her again, and if I do, perhaps it will be to put her to rest.