The Lady Drocilla arrayed in all Her Beauteous Ruin contemplates Her mask here... even as its frozen touch turns her fingers blue while Her taloned fingers gleam deadly around it. She mourns its use, pondering, wondering again whether to don the accessory despite the Dread it brings. Flowing from her skirts is a bed of black dahlias while Her redolence trails behind at the end of Her skirts. Her eerie effulgence pierces through even the sanguine shadows and tenebrous pall behind Her.