“Arian’s ebony hair was spread in a shimmering fan around her shoulders, reminding Tristan absurdly of Snow White in her glass coffin. Even in death, hadn’t the deceptive blush of life stained Snow White’s pallid cheeks? Hadn’t her rosebud lips parted as if to welcome a kiss from a prince who might never come? Hadn’t the creamy swell of her breasts tantalized every hopelessly naive kid in the theater into daring to believe her chest would rise just one more time?”
