Outside the window, the desert has not changed. Travelling sand veils the world. The sun is a merciless companion, burning life away during the long hours of the day. The dunes reflect the light, gleaming golden, misdirecting treasures.
Centuries have gone and the tall tower in the forgotten city still stands. No one has entered it in many years. And has been heaped against the door by the winds, concealing the entry. The stairs are dark, winding their way up around the spine of the tower, leading to a single room which is empty except for the bed and the queen.
She is beautiful, has always been beautiful, and will remain herself until the end of the desert. Each day she rests on her bed, long veil cloaking her womanly curves, and each night at dusk she gets up to stand at the window, with bare skin, shivers running up and down her spine. She bathes in the gentle moon light until the sun returns and sends her back into the shadows.