Your auburned locks blaze as the gilded sun and your freckled cheeks glitter as the light of constellations. The pallor of your ivory skin could not be bettered by death and no corpse could a finer frame of bone present.
In my dreams I write among the reeds on the river of gore. My boat is a pyre, incensed with flame it turns bloody water to steam. It chars my throat and stokes my voice to say, "Love let her see.".
Your seat and delicate flesh be preserved dry with great tenderness, Heiress Presumptive. The chrysalis of your interment be illumined and shed with good spede. The offspring of the lustrous catacombs await your rise and reanimation. Be sweetly cleaved limb and trunk, rest in pieces and reign in immediate time, Princess of the relucent crescent.
My love all ways,Lis