She screamed for the alchemist, the surgeon, thrusting plastic and promises. On a desperate quest she sent them: the colostrum of the great white beast, heart of a unicorn, eye of a condor.
A year and a day they were away, adventuring far.
While she cowered in her ivory tower, alone in shame, shielded from the world and its fearsome sun. Starving for the past.
They returned to find her desiccated corpse. Light as a butterfly.
Many had thought she had passed long since. They covered her face in the coffin, talked of the beauty of her youth.