She looked for a while at her fishnets, considering. I knew what she was thinking at that moment, not through any magic. I loved her in them and always had. They were part of her goth look and more than once she'd worn them with the explicit purpose of arousing me, and the night had ended with them wrapped around my waist. In the end, she decided against it, because it would look strange at a funeral. She did, however, decide to wear the same pair of sheer black panties that she was wearing the first night that we had f****d. She had a small but sorrowful smile as she pulled them on. Then came the heels.
She looked at herself in the mirror a final time. Most worrying to me was that she had done nothing with her hair save run her fingers through it. I know that seems odd, and believe me wh
