Lola’s slender fingers of alabaster tremble significantly as she draws in a deep, heavy breath. She would deny the weight of which burned her chest, the soft racketing noise escaping her lips upon her next exhale was evidence enough she was struggling with the task at hand.

But she wouldn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

How could she, when giving up on this and admitting defeat filled her with such self loathing she would rather this ruthless illness take her and let that be the end of it.

One more deep, painful breath, filled with the burning of Lola’s sheer determination to cling to her life, and she lowered her fingers in tandem. Plucking at the Ivory keys, anyone with ears would feel somber to hear such a melancholy filled tune. The song that filled the room was a plea; to whatever greater power existed beyond the space of logic, whatever lay dormant or active and had influence over this life. This moment.

Lola was playing a plea, a plea for her soul to finally rest. Through months of medical treatment, homeopathic treatment, shamans and priests, she had just about had enough of fighting. Fighting for breath when her lungs began to fail her, scarred by countless lesions that had made it a near impossible feat to simply live. And yet Lola persevered, determined to make it to this final milestone, to complete this final task that would’ve taken her but a third of the time if only her traitorous body hadn’t begun to die on her.

Not that anyone would call Lola’s state living. She was surviving a brutal battle with every breath, every step, every thought. Her gaunt appearance was striking enough, but her lips and eyes drew the most attention. Her lips, pale as the skin surrounding it and cracked skin that stemmed from dehydration. Her eyes, once bright and clear and azure as the deepest sea, ringed with the hue of exhaustion. Every visual aspect of her made it sickeningly apparent death was fast approaching, even the nurses were utterly dumbfounded by the woman’s resolve to simply survive.

And for the sole purpose of learning this one song.

Lola closed her withered eyes as she immersed herself in the depths of her symphony, humming alongside the mournful tune. It was once the song of her youth, that told the story of her first and last love, the resilience she held that people around her marvelled and envied. The song that had started it all, and would be the end of it all.

Pulling back her shrunken hands, those withered eyes fell onto the keys, tracing over the dark splash of vermillion coating them. Coating her fingers with a comforting warmth that assured her the end was close.

Tipping back her head, fine grey strands fell upon Lola’s shoulders as she let out a resigned breath, willing it to be her last as she stared up through the glass ceiling and toward the endless sky she had looked to so many times during moments of doubt throughout her long life.

Far too long a life, her thoughts echo.

With her eyes closed, basking in the brilliance of the mid morning sunlight, gasps sounded around the room as countless nurses stopped in their tracks to stare; visibly awestruck by the sight.

For Lola, who a moment ago had appeared as a withered hag battling for each breath, was reborn anew before their very eyes.

With locks of spun gold that fell to her waist in ringlets, brushing against skin the colour of a swans’ feathers rather than the hideous pallor of death. She turned to each nurse, her eyes sparkling with the luminosity of each star in the sky of the clearest night.

“Thankyou,” her melodic voice rang, no longer hoarse or crackly, but as clear as a bell chime. And with a final smile, and a look of absolute and irrefutable peace, her body dropped to the floor bonelessly. The sound of which quickly snapped the room back to reality, where the small and frail body of Lola rested.

The most haunting thing, however, was that the last note of that sorrowful song still loomed.

Death itself still loomed.