Fana—
To lie beautiful in death is a lyric privilege, but so faint an echo.
Sobe—
You reason too simply. I cannot promise you life. Perhaps your pleasure will be only that of one who greets a phantom lover. A moment of loveliness and the thought of eternal beauty embalmed in a dark dream, may be all that shall be given to you before death.
Fana
And what else is possible?
Sobe
It is possible that you will become so beautiful that you cannot die. It is possible that Death, feeding your beauty, will exhaust itself in a last gentle caress. Then you will still live, and Death, a eunuch, will drag himself after you.
Fana
But why do you speak so eagerly? Surely your only interest does not lie in my exchanging one veil for another.