Death comes for each life eventually. Not all deaths are dramatic or by the end of a sword. Few get to be surrounded by the people they love as they take their last breaths. Not all deaths are witnessed by anyone at all. A soul can slip away as quietly as a gentle breeze.
Owena’s cold body was curled about itself in a fetal position. Over night it had become more rigid, losing the flexibility of life. The infection that grew in her toe had spread. Climbing through her blood to silently poison her. The healing touches and attempts at cleaning it had been too late.
She had been dreaming when her souls departed her flesh. Dreaming of her Ma and Pa. Her Ma was dancing in the stars with her Pa.
“Owena.” Her parents voices blended together as they addressed her, “Owena, you don’t need a ballad ... we love you...”
Her blue lips were curled in a small smile.
