The color drained from Max’s face when he saw Bennett take hold of the block of wood holding the shutters closed. “Don’t, Bennett. I’m begging you, don’t do this,” he said, bolting for the door. “Please, for the love of God, don’t do this.”

Bennett placed her hand on the planks of the shutter, the heat of the wood telling her what she needed to know. The sun was high in the sky and burning brightly, and as soon as she allowed sunlight to enter, she’d be burning, too. Bennett looked over at Max. “Unless you want to turn to ash, you’d best leave now. I will not say it again.”

Max took a ragged breath and choked back his tears. “I cannot stop you from this path. We all must choose our own way, but if this is to be goodbye, I want you to know that I care for you deeply. I will miss your questions and your wit. I will miss your stubbornness and your intelligence, but most of all…most of all, I will miss a woman who’s become important to me. So important, in fact, I fear one day I will have to choose the same path, if only to find you again. Do what you must, my dear Bennett. Just know that I love you.”

Max walked out the door and closed it behind him, leaving Bennett alone with her thoughts. She looked at her hand. It appeared no different from the day before. Her skin was the same color, her fingers moved, and her wrist flexed, yet the wood felt peculiar under it. Each striation in the grain was pronounced, and the tiny peaks and valleys of every furrow and ridge were now like mountains and canyons.

Bennett closed her eyes and listened to the beat of her heart. It was strong and fast, and the rhythm was comforting—normal—but there was another sound, too. Faint and whooshing, it took her a few moments to realize what it was, and Bennett paled. It was the blood flowing in her veins, and that was not normal. Bennett opened her eyes, and they were immediately drawn to the latch on the shutter.

Death would free her from the life she’d now been given, a life she’d never wanted, and a curse she’d be helpless to deny. But death would also erase her hope of ever seeing her children again or learning more about music and the world and art. Oh, how she loved art.

Bennett hung her head and let her tears fall. As they hit the floor, each tiny, quiet splash resounded in her head like a bass drum. It was ear-splitting, and the noise compelled her to take the final step. She would not live like this. Bennett took a stuttered breath, and finding the wooden latch on the shutters, she released it from its keeper.

***