"I wish I could see Sissy one more time. It's terrible for her the snow came tonight, but good for me, I think. A nice cushion to walk on." Diana breathed low from the bed, eyes glancing feebly out the open window.

"You sound sure you're leaving tonight. You're going to live 'till you're an old woman." Despite her best efforts, the quiver in Margaret's voice betrayed her.

Diana had been certain for hours it was the end. Margaret had been certain for days.

As Diana finally fell asleep in the glory of the snow, Margaret kissed her forehead and waited until her friend's chest ceased its shallow march. She'd never tell anyone, but in the quiet of the night, as she stood up to alert Sam that his sister was dead, Margaret thought for a second that she'd seen a delicate set of footprints walking away in the snow.

So death had come again, but not for Margaret, never for Margaret. As badly as she wished for it, death decided time and time again to leave her waiting. Perhaps it was true that only the good die young. Perhaps this long life she had been cursed with was the result of some great crime she didn't remember committing.