She sat in the corner at the table, her face glowing like a fresh carnation, but on a second glance, her back is bent, her eyes milky. When food was served, everyone talked and laughed away upon the warm pumpkin soup. She only smiled. Her milky eyes were fixated on the soup, as if staring at a precious glassed carnation, its petals slowly darkened by the days, its youth drained. Plates were emptied, and everyone stood up to move through the many rooms and paintings to the exit. No one noticed that her plate was still full. The pumpkin soup was now cold, but still glowing in its orange warmth tinged with a creamy white. There were gossips in the hallway, flying through the many rooms and paintings, "do you know here once lived a lady who spent her whole life waiting for her ideal love to arrive?" She built a stone castle for herself, waiting for a lover she had only met in her dreams. They said she loved carnations, and she said, he loved pumpkin soup.