The bandages come away, they no longer stick to skin, for the blood has long since dried. The names still stand out, like glistening bone in the shadows of death. The smooth white skin in a slightly tan environment. She touches each one of the fifteen thoughts of love. Fifteen have been documented on both wrists, fourteen have been crossed out. She touches his name, the last of them all and just before the bend of her elbow. “Maybe Happily-Ever-After can come true.â?