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What had compelled her to do it? Even Fiona herself couldn't say, and it was a wonder she had mustered the strength to do the horrendous deed.

She peered into the tattered opening of the coffin, a sad wooden affair that might have been extravagent when it was built.

"I don't look like you," she whispered, staring at what little remained of her cousin Elvira. Her hand stretched out, gently caressing what little rotting skin remained on bones. The smell was repulsive, but Fiona barely seemed to notice it.

She leaned in close, the sickly sweet smell of old decay washing over her. Had Elvira really been pretty? She left ugly remains.

Fiona's fingers brushed against hair that mirrored the color of her own, still silky and smooth to the touch. Her other hand trailed down the bodice of what was once a fine dress.

"You're long gone," Fiona mused, "yet you still haunt the people you left behind."

She leaned even closer, tracing a sharp jawline, watching as her finger dragged some flesh from bone. "Why would you do that? What made you so intoxicating?"

Elvira made no response. Fiona frowned and, hit by an impulse, leaned forward to press her lips against Elvira's.

"I suppose I'll never know," Fiona whispered, eyes half-lidded as she stared down at the empty sockets that surely once contained a gaze like her own.