We're all blind to something-the mind's eye can't hold everything at once. And we're all dying-just some more
rapidly than others.
But platitudes were only so much whistling in the dark, mantras to reassure the senses, soothe the terrors, distract
the rat-mind gnawing at the vitals. The truth of the matter was, Janna was dying and Suze Blackstock was more the
type to blast the dark with a bonfire than whistle into it. Suze did not want to be soothed, not even when she woke, as
she did now, to an unrelieved blackness. Ah shit, she thought. It's gone, I'm blind.