Illustrious, beauteous, in strength grace and in stillness movement the Countess was dead while yet young yet not young enough to be bereft of wisdom or the delicate veil of patience. Her ringlets coiled copper fire in their blackness, her equine nose was only too fitting for her deep well eyes and the bones of her face destroyed souls.
        She drowned.
        The Countess drowned.
        In the waters, the lagoon, the canals, the watery ways, of Venice.
        The murky waters washed over her exquisite brown eyes and the light left them. Left only towers of marzipan.