A tear slipped from her eye and she caught it on her finger tips. The old riddle came to mind, one her brother had asked her: I was born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips. What am I?

You are a tear, but what am I?

What am I?

The answer was a single word; one horrible word that she refused to think about. If she could only shut it out, perhaps it would go away. Maybe it would all go away.

Only, it wouldn't.

There was a sound; a ...