A sadness settled around her like a heavy shawl. She covered herself in the weight of her sorrow, hoping to crush any feelings that might stir as she looked down on the body. The still, broken being that was once her love. The only being in her universe she called "My Heart".
Oh, yes. He did bring life to her; her pulse racing with his every touch, his caressing looks, his murmured endearments.
She was like a constant flame; burning with unknown intensity. As if the fat of her body had become the tallow to stoke her inner fires.
In the end, all was consumed in this sacred conflagration. Her love, her mind, his life. All lost to the Mirror of Truth and the Witch's curse upon her kind.
Finding the truth about her new love was irresistible to her. She needed confirmation of this pledged union of hearts.
The Mirror of Truth hung within the Witch's stone cottage at the edge of the village. The old hag had covered it with a long black drape, years before. Now this hung in tatters and spiders wove their own threads among the torn.
She was warned by the Witch's foretelling glass, that this man was full of deceit and still fed his hunger on the flesh of other women. The Mirror shimmered like a stirring fog. It spoke of how this beautiful man, had made his fortunes, seducing women of great wealth; but only those women who were spurned by those who sought even a modicum of beauty. Of this, she had none.
Her body was so rotund with her prodigious weight, that her tiny feet seemed incapable of carrying her to her next meal. Her breasts were both pendulous and frightening as they swung like counterweights beneath the expensive material of her gown.
Her face was round and flat with flesh, a mouth and nose were more discernible upon the face of the moon. Her eyes no more than a snowman's dark stones; black and lifeless.
There were at least two chins visible above her short, creased neck; each wobbling like a rooster's wattle.
To find her arms inviting an embrace, would be like being wrapped within a bear's hug in the throes of full-on rut.
Alas, she bent her ear and frizzy head of yellow hair, to the man she called "My Heart". She was like a fat bumble bee; gathering the sweet nectar of his words.
At his insistence, they wed in secret. On the night he became Lord of the castle and its vast estates, she came to his bed unbidden. She dressed in gauzy linen, the color of fresh churned butter to match the hair, hanging dank and sparsely like rows of dried husks. Her flesh, unencumbered by stiff corset or muslin, shifted like wave upon wave upon the face of the sea.
Her eyes newly alight with an aroused passion, she flung herself upon him while he lay dozing face down in a haze of wine. The sound of his back cracking was not unlike the ice being pushed aside by the prow of a ship.
She lay upon his inert body, feeling the warmth slowly leaving him just as the Mirror of Truth had foreshadowed.
"My Heart!" she cried over his chilling flesh. "The Mirror warned of your betrayal and showed your end as surely as I see it here. I broke you before you could my heart crush, with the weight of your lies. You broke, My Heart, like a dry twig under my feet."
The mountain of flesh lifted off the still form, lying akimbo amid the silken sheets. She would see the Mirror of Truth many times she was certain, before a true heart was reveled.
Sighing deeply, she knew the curse was still intact, as it was a hundred years or more. She Returned to the Witch's cottage, squat and ugly under a finger of moonlight.