Fingers like tiny angels moving along her back, breaking off her naked body like waterfalls. She cannot feel it but her spine twists inside, making her ribs pierce through her cold porcelain skin. Her skin sheds ashes in her wake, like kicking the crud off of a cigarrette. She climbs back to her feet and stumbles back to life to breathe once again. As she ascends in her cloud of locusts, all life under her wilts like time. She is the essence of death.