He seems so small.
Death isn’t flattering, not for anyone. Not even him.
Her creased dress is perfect.
The veins on his hands pop; it might not be true to science since he is dead, but nothing about him was true to science.
The real art lies in her mouth. The perfect mix of peace and sorrow, of vulnerability and power.
“Are you done? We must go!”
No, I am not done. I am never done. I don’t want to go to a stupid party. I need to work.
“Michelangelo!”
“I am coming!”
I will call you Pietà.
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This story is inspired by Pietà, the sculpture depicting the Virgin Mary supporting the body of the dead Christ, by Michelangelo Buonarroti.
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