So Beautiful But She Feels Nothing

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She was beautiful, a vision among the desert cacti. Her skin, pale as moonlight, seemed to shimmer in the sun. People spoke of her delicate hands, hands that could pluck the sharpest Napola leaves without a scratch, as if her skin were immune to pain. But beneath that beauty was a secret—a cold, hollow truth. One day, picking up a roadkill armadillo out of pity, she contracted leprosy. Slowly, her body began to change, yet her hands—oddly enough—remained soft, untouched by the disease.

She felt nothing. As her once vivid world dulled, sensation slipped away from her fingertips. Touch, once a joy, became distant. She watched in silence as others marveled at her ability to handle cacti with bare hands, never noticing the toll leprosy had taken. But it wasn’t just her hands; it was her heart. She no longer felt the sting of beauty or the warmth of life.

Her only solace was the silence of the desert. Each day, she ventured farther into its heart, her soft hands trailing along the spines of cactus leaves. She was becoming a ghost in her own skin, beautiful but untouched by the world, unable to feel.

And one day, as she wandered deeper into the vastness, she wondered—could she ever feel again? But no answer came. The desert only stretched before her, infinite and unyielding.