She was weeping. Child's face stained with tears, eyes bright and burning -- Spirit doesn't always smile. I reached out, brushed back a fallen lock of hair, caressed the softness of her cheek with the back of that single finger.

"M'lady, what is your pain?"

She answered not at first, but took my hand with hers, uncoiling my fingers to press palm-to-palm, and hugged it to herself. A flutter of a kiss upon my wrist, then she cradled it betwixt her ear and shoulder; her eyes closed and brow furrowed.

Only a moment passed, though it may have been an eternity.

I crouched, muted, where I'd first knelt, and stared up at her. Waited.

"Another one passed," she whispered, then opened her eyes and locked them onto mine own. Gone now were the tears, but the sadness remained. "Passed into a darkened night with only an ember slowly dying."

Melancholia mixed with growing anger.

I knew instantly what she meant, of course, that yet another mortal soul had been snuffed out . . . but I was curious about her last emotion. Sorrow, I could see, but fury?

"Mortality is their choice to make," I offered. "Why glower over this one?'

She clicked her tongue and turned away.

"Because your race are such fools! Because this has gone on long enough. Because it happens far too often. Because . . . ." She suddenly went limp and bowed her head. A long moment passed.

When she spoke again, the tremor had returned.

"Because he was the last of your people. The end has come."

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