Question for muse, what is beauty in your eyes?
A long pause for a long thought upon the question presented to him. Out of all people to inquire about the face value of beauty- one would bring it up in the presence of an executioner?
The man’s eyes never faltered. Taking in a glimpse of an otherwise wilted flower that he had delicately lifted with the edge of his fingertips. Saving it briefly from its inevitable end of falling from its vase.
“What is something beautiful in my eyes... That is not something I wonder about often, although if you must know an answer from my own perspective...”
His hand draws away, taking away the wilted dying flower from its home. Its petals cradled within his palm as if finally sleeping its last slumber.
“To me, something beautiful is not just how something looks, how you dress up nor how much make up you put on.”
No, death did not care for how pretty someone was.
“In the eyes of an executioner, beauty is being able to experience life’s gift until the end of one’s life. To live is to create memories, and to create memories is to dream. That, to me, is what I find beautiful- for in the end, we all come to the same conclusion of our story some day. No matter if you are a commoner, an executioner, or a King. It is simply up to the individual if they wish to bestow those beautiful memories onto the next life.”
The flower is then buried underneath the soil, next to the thriving flowers it had once shared a vase with.
Thus, the cycle of life continues.
