I only hear her on her favourite gramophone, whispering to me in the pauses between songs as I dance with her lifeless body. I'd always say this would be the last time, just one final dance and then I'd have the closure to bury her like she wanted but at the end of each song she'd beg for one more dance.
It's been seven months of this now and she's finally stopped smelling like death. I know she can't help it, rot gets to us all in the end but Lord how it was difficult to maintain a steady waltz when each movement unleashed that fetid stench from my heart's dearest delight.
Now she has no smell, that or I've lost another of my senses. I don't know and I can't bring myself to care either, I don't care for much now that she's at the point of passing on. A part of me does wonder if she plans to bring me with her - make me dance myself to death like the old fairytales she used to love so much.
Would it be that bad to join her and spend eternity waltzing and staring into her eyes?
It would certainly be better than staring at her limp, decaying neck.
I do hope I pass soon, I'm so very tired of dancing with a corpse.
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