Never have I felt so helpless nor so weak. I wish to come to her aid, but I know not how. Will I do nothing?

I do nothing. I watch her fade.

Could this frail wraith that lies listlessly in the bed before us truly be our mother?

No. This empty, desolate shell of a body could not be our mother, one so full of laughter, so full of life. Though her body endures, she is dead. My father has failed her. I have failed her. Will we do nothing?

I do nothing. She will leave us.

She will depart in search of healing in a land that knows no death.

I want to take action, but what can I fight? Phantoms? Apparitions? Mere shadows of what were and portents of what will be? If unleashed, could my need for vengeance ever be sated or would it consume me? What will I do?

I do nothing. My hope is lost.