The Chakravanti called in to work at the Hospice for the third time in a week. She sat in her tiny apartment and looked out the window. Sage and copal burned on her altar, and the yantra diagram hung over it still. Everything looked washed out even to her.

She ran her hand over her head, collecting another handful of hair so it wouldn't itch as it fell out. She knew there were others who had lived with the sickness far longer. Lately when she meditated, her Avatar was silent. Silent...as if waiting.

The Chakravanti rose from the chair and knelt painfully before the altar. She stared at the incense smoke curling ceilingward for a long time. She could have reached out with her mind and pushed the coiling currents of air, but chose not to.

In the end, there was always the choice.

She rose far from smoothly and crossed to the bathroom. Her medicine was all there, all the drugs she took to forstall the inevitable. Cocktails of medication, pain relievers and antivirals and antiimflammitants. Vanna stared at the mixture for a very long time before moving. She slid her hands over her head repeatedly, freeing yet more hair. It went into the toilet to be flushed away, dry and brittle and no more than a hindrance now. A razor came out and completed the job, a few nicks in the skin inconsequential now for what she planned to do. No one was near to risk infection, anyway. Disinfection was more a matter of habit than necessity. And the medication...

It was time and past time.

Bottles of medicine in her arms, she took the expensive substances back out to the altar. The charcoal still smoldered the herbs. She added a liberal helping of sage, and then fed a pill to the hot briquette.

The smoke that rose was bitter and choking. She coughed, but did not stop until all of the medication was gone. It took her three hours and multiple blocks of charcoal, but it was done. Then she fell asleep right there, by the altar. Only her own coughing disturbed the peace her slumber....

...and in the silence, the Chakravanti's Avatar whispered softly in solace.

In the end, there was always the choice.