She’s so beautiful. Full lips, boasting the barest hint of pink gloss, skin like gossamer dotted in fine freckles, tiny lines that speak of time well-spent, and hair swept into an expert chignon so startlingly white it momentarily blinds. Blinds me to her tragic truth. No, “awful.” Her awful truth. “Tragic” too cliche, used until one’s used to it, used. But, I can’t dwell on this right now. She’s chosen an Angelonia — a favorite of mine — the color perfect for her. Vermillion