Conservatory Skull

Skull Candy

Well, the conservatory is a fine place to end up. Sitting and watching the seasons roll by overhead. Somehow I always felt I would end up in a museum, admired from afar and kept under lock and key. Such illusions are really only for the living. Once the body is gone all that remains is a small piece of will, a tiny seed of remembering. Egypt has gone now, long gone in dark times and even darker tombs. I, Cleopatra, have been moved from place to place, never kept for long.

Ugh, moths, I’m not fond of moths even now. It is better than rats, far better than dogs and eternally better than a wet Roman sewer.

Now I will watch the seasons flow past and remember until I fade into nothingness.

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