The young woman's lips trembled as she appealed to the ancient crone who sat in the shadows of the dingy parlour.
"I beg of you, please, is there no way to see my beloved again?" she pleaded.
The aged mystic shook her head slowly.
"The dead must remain so, my child," she replied.
"Is there nothing I can do to see his face just once more?" the young woman begged.
The mystic sat silent for a few moments, weighing the consequences of her involvement.
"There is only one thing I could give you, but it would not bring your husband back to this earth," she said at last.
"What is it?" the widow pleaded.
"I could give you this," the old woman replied, holding out her hand and presenting a brass locket. "If you place a photograph of your husband inside the locket and put the chain 'round your neck, you will see the image of your beloved again. Yet that is all it will be - an image. There will be no soul within and the image cannot age or change. Merely a picture of his body and nothing more."
She handed the locket to the bereaved bride.
"I must caution you against it, my dear," the ancient one continued, "for this will only prolong your grief. It is better to move on with your life and let the past fade away."
But her client paid no attention to her warning and grasped the locket in both hands. She was willing to do anything just to see her husband's face again, just to hear his voice. The Jezzail bullet that had taken his life had left her without the means to even say goodbye …