have to be prepared for it."
“To die?” She laughs out loud. "I think you can never be prepared for that. Not if you die yourself, and much less if someone you love dies."How desperately I cling to the memory, the picture in front of me, the twinkling of her eyes in the cold light of the library lamp and the long-missed sound of her voice, but it blurs, slips into me like the pollen of a dandelion after a gust of wind without me Could somehow prevent it, and I'll sink into darkness again

A crackling wakes me, crackling and familiar to me. <i> Fire </i> hisses through my head with a vague sense of joyful recognition, and I try unsuccessfully to lift my eyelids. <i> Maybe I'm blind </i>, I think tired and strangely indifferent, while the sound of the flames in my ears grows louder and a cozy warmth spreads across my shoulder blades.
"My son," I suddenly hear a male voice say in the immediate vicinity, with a good deal of complacency and probably also pride, and although I now double my efforts to open my eyes, I achieve nothing but a rapidly expanding one , stabbing headache.A few seconds later, footsteps reverberate on the floor and the crackling stops.