her light shone in the stillest of lakes.
its never a loud light. its never striking or flashy. it always seems recycled. it doesnt fill ones soul to watch. its not very remarkable.
it might have green in it, but too little to be teased out by the eye. if it has red, its not that of a living thing nor of a colored rocky landscape. a muted maroon, in place of eyeseeking scarlet.
you might hear that her light had life and vibrance once. you doubt what stories you hear. youve grown used to a world of sterile serenity.
you see her light sometimes. the shards have dulled by now. and their edges fail to tease the vibrance that even her cadaver once held.