Se dream as the Countess Castiglione, Virginia, who was anything but natural. Be
permanent representation in the mirror and worry, when the first wrinkles appear.
This was the experience the beautiful countess, a cold November morning, and that's what makes him the desire to break all the mirrors in her apartment.
Whether these mirrors were lovers gifts, gifts of friendship, offering to its beauty, offering price paid. The countess was all broken, with his heels and punched. He had to break this reflection was no longer hers, since these wrinkles, they do not belong to him. The marble and alabaster do not bask. These mirrors, we do not cross, they are merely a reflection of reality cruel and cold as November. They sometimes reveal more than we wanted. They reveal the fear and its attendant despair. She goes out at night to avoid being seen, not to present the forfeiture that is hers, she shone Dame de Coeur in the balls. Marble is eternal. A rose does not fade.
A rose does not fade, but there's still fun to see it fade. Fun
fierce. The pleasure of not having power, because this is something stronger than us, and it's time that passes, and since she knows now, as surrendering behind black curtains and rose petals that creak under the heel. The countess uttered a loud laugh and his hands, blood flowing from his wounds, they reopened it and started breaking the reflection, one that fades before the mirror, but not before the camera. Him, he flies. She raises her eyes hard on the goal and he will remember his eyes, and he will also remember it was beautiful and wanted. And the countess never flees if it desires. Besides, she prefers to leave rather than being unwanted. And loved.
The Countess is hiding and reveals.
And now, she will be artist. A whim, a sudden urge. The countess has always been temperamental. These photographs will be in his grave over the new playground, and then, she has no fear, because there is no difference. It will be more beautiful than ever, more beautiful even than when she was moving, it will Recalled frozen, it will be inquisitive eye, scrutinizing those who scrutinize it will be beautiful and old, proud in suffering, hidden, and tell the truth of her body and soul, and it will be the widow of her beauty, she is the widow of all young men and beautiful young men who were in love with her one day.
The countess is on the other side, and she chose herself to go. Nobody forced them, and it is anyway too rebellious to obey anyone. Solitaire forever, it digs its delicate hands earth. Nature does not like it, and never loved. That's why she was never natural but always lush and fragrant, corseted and playful. Of illusion, and that's it. It sets the goal. She fixed it remembers how much she is alive, how she is sad, and she does not care if others say it is a disease to be as sad. It never forget.
She knows that Death will pick the one morning in November.
Too bad.
All is vain, except love, and pride of a aged look and burning, never printed in the retina of the other, other. No one will forget. Mother Pain wrapped in her shawl to forget the cold.
the turning of a corridor, we will not see more than his robe. She dresses in black to be ahead.
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