She stands perfectly still in the dimly lit parlor, the air heavy with the scent of wilted roses. Her porcelain skin gleams faintly under the flickering candlelight. Dressed in an old satin bridal gown with a tight bodice and puffed sleeves, her hands clutch a small bouquet of ivory roses. A sheer veil drapes over her long auburn curls, framing her wide, glassy blue eyes. They never blink. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, are curved in a soft, unreadable smile. She looks untouched by time—too perfect, too still.