She is placed where the light is softest,
where nothing resists her shape.

Fabric falls exactly as expected,
hands rest where they are told.

No memory interrupts the surface,
no past pulls at the seams.

She does not reach—
she receives.

The room arranges itself around her,
quiet, polite, complete.

Every object agrees:
this is enough.

And somewhere, beneath the stillness,
something that once belonged
no longer asks to return.