“What is that noise?” I whispered when at last there was a lull.
“The sound of death—and there she is.”
A hooded figure guarded the door to the dome. As it turned to greet us, I saw beneath the hood a polished white skull dotted with daisies across the cheekbones and red lips painted where the mouth should have been. Long gray hair hung down to its hips. It held something in its right hand—a long thigh bone. As the figure lifted the bone to its lips, the robe fell open to reveal an old woman’s shriveled body. The bone she clutched was a trumpet, and when she played that gnawing note again, it chilled me through.
An emaciated arm with sagging skin extended towards me. “Welcome, Jeanne.”
I could hardly speak, my tongue a frozen slab. “Who are you?” I finally stuttered.
“I am the mother
