In the storefront of Tiffany's she had stood as a queen. A diamond star and gold moons on her hand.

Her spine was unhunched and her hair an auburn spun cloud catching the sun of a smile.

The years were but months and the moments were etched on a great marble slab. She looked through the cracks in her mirror, reached in and touched the girl there. They clasped hands, held on to each other as her heart, weary and too worn to see, beat slower and slower and stopped.

And all we could do was watch.

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