Vanity french actress 2/2:Funeral: Halloween Special

 

This is requested caption from reljohn8802
A few years later.
The sky over Hollywood was a dull, faded blue, the kind that looked as if it had lain in the sun too long. I stood when delicate shadows drop on my face-Amandine's face. The cemetery was small, private, a place where the wealthy buried their dead.
A handful of mourners stood over the coffin.
The coffin was already closed and being lowered with a body of Margaret Winslet's.

The priest droned on and on about "a good long life" and "a bright spirit returned to God." I bit the inside of my cheek—Amandine's cheek—to keep from laughing. If only he knew.  If only any of them knew that the coffin didn't really hold old Margaret mind, but Amandine one, who hadn't even reached 30.
Years passed before the body finally gave out. Years of watching by Amandine trapped in this paralyzed shell, as I lived her stolen life in the spotlight. At first, I visited her often, mocking her, reveling in her silent suffering. But as the body decomposed and her eyes grew increasingly blurry, the visits became less frequent. It was no longer fun to torment a prisoner who could barely understand you, and finally, after a few years body gave up and Amandine died.

The coffin hit the ground with a dull thud. I stepped forward, running my well-groomed hand over the polished stone.

"Goodbye, Margaret," I murmured, loud enough for the attendees to hear. A respectful farewell to my "dear friend and mentor."  The press would have lapped it up – another layer of the tragic, glamorous myth I'd built.

But under my breath, so quietly only the dead could hear, I added:

"Amandine, heh, you lasted longer than I thought. I wonder if reincarnation or maybe the afterlife awaits you."

I turned on my heel and walked away from the grave, my heels clicking sharply on the cobblestone path. The world was mine now – truly, irrevocably mine. No more left unsaid. No witnesses.

Before me lay only a fresh, young body and a lifetime of stolen years.

And as I slid into the backseat of the limousine and adjusted my sunglasses, a slow smile played on my lips.

Margaret Winslet was dead.

Long live Margaret DuPont.