B-R-Benton

     The Queen of Olomar had always been a stunning beauty, but in death her loveliness was magnified. Her face was white and pristine like a porcelain doll, framed by the golden, perfect tangles of her hair. Her crystal eyes were closed, peaceful, as if dreams, not death, had taken her, and her pink lips were parted, a permanent mold of her calm and final breath. But it was her warmth more than anything that made her so lovely in death, for although life had slipped from her ethereal form, the warmth of her heart remained, and her body could not grow cold.      This was the tale that the peo