Three tender notes of pianosong ring out hauntingly in the foyer, followed by their echo, and not much more. Her staggered breathing is timid and reserved. Her eyes—— sick and black, an abyss to fall into, lonely —— glaze over, but she is at peace somehow; there is an emptiness here that makes her feel full in comparison. She wonders if there are ghosts —— wouldn’t that be lovely! She fancies herself among their phantomnesses. She, too, drifts here and there invisibly. A silly thing, she thinks, silly and sad to feel comforted by thoughts of the lingering dead. . .
There is a soft creak from a floorboard behind her, and she whirls her head to look at the doorway in alarm. Her heart in her throat, Aaliyah slowly withdraws her thin fingers from their place hovering above ivory keys. “Nynevaiyah—” she begins to say to her younger sister, but is allowed nothing else, as usual; she is cut off, followed by her echo, and not much more.