She lived a life longer than I, though she was ten years my junior. She laid there, stricken and blind from the ashes of what crumbled around us. It didn't matter that I had no voice; I had nothing to say. Her half-shuttered eyes burned holes into the ceiling, and her tired breath grew weak. With her final breath she uttered these six words to me. She died. If not for my breath and the thumping in my breast I'd think myself to be dead, too.