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and it cast a flickering light across the dusty floor. Olivia took an oil lamp down from a shelf and sat it on the table. Removing the sconce she touched the flame to the wide cotton wick, bathing the room with a steady orange glow. She lit three more and placed them all in a line like the footlights of a grand stage.
Olivia eased the double doors of the bureau open and peered inside. The old, plastic bag crinkled in her shaking hands. The armoire was empty aside from the bag and a hat box containing her slippers. Hanging the bag on a brass hook on the back of the door, Olivia eased the zipper down and spread the folds of protective plastic. The dress was in pristine condition. It defied all of the laws of time and deterioration. She slipped the straps from the padded hanger and held it up to her, turning to look in the full-length mirror. The tiny dress threatened to swallow her gaunt frame. Her wrinkled skin looked even more so next to the soft shimmering material. She turned away from her aged reflection.

Then Olivia slipped out of her house clothes dropping them in a pile on the floor. A damp chill clung to her skin as she slid the dress over her head. The filmy material fell into place. Silky-thin straps lay upon her shoulders and the white gossamer material gave off an ethereal radiance. She stepped into delicate slippers and laced them up her calves. Varicose veins spread out like blue spider webs across her skin. Their stubborn appearance reminded her of her faded form. Then Olivia revisited the looking glass.
The beautiful, young girl from the faded photograph greeted her in the mirror. Her skin was smooth as cream, unblemished by spots of age and too much time in the garden sun. Worry lines vanished from around her mouth and eyes. Cinnamon tresses set off lucid, bright-green eyes ' a striking contrast against her lalbaster-pale skin. Rich, red lips formed the full rosebud of her mouth. She ran her fingers through her hair searching for any hint of gray. Her legs were the lithe and toned legs of a dancer. Her arms were supple and firm, sculpted by years of practice making perfect.
She positioned herself on the makeshift stage and allowed her mind's orchestra and her body's muscles to guide her. Music poured from the walls and rose from the floor. On the winds and strings of an invisible symphony, Olivia was reunited with her true love. Her body remembered and she followed its lissome lead with fluid ease. Her heart soared in her chest as her feet left

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