“Help me,” she cries to the cold black sky.
“I’ve a horrible disease and my heart cannot take it any longer.”
The moon lowers its head to listen. The sun burns with lack of privacy but the moon listens without announcing, without laughter.
Her breath is short and the clouds begin to weep with her, a forever torrent of distress that washes the mask from her face.
She lifts her head to her hushed companions and sobs, “I feel, and I fear that is what will be the death of me, in the end.”