Somebody already set her laptop close to the bed and made music for her that generously contrapunted the monotone, restless hissing of the ventillator, pressing life into her throat again and again. This time the Traviata... He couldn't be sure but it was easy to think that 'somebody' was Francis.<br/>She gave him a weak smile, this morning she was lying there like any other white headed of the unit here, defeated and slowly but definitely drifting towards the edge, tucked under the covers, her crooked thin fingers resting on the blue blanket with jumping dolphins. The only object besides some plush figures, books and bouquets that reminded of the fact: she was a person.<br/>Then her lips began to move, making her whole face strain yet she tried so hard to form a silent word for him, at least.<br/>'<em>Speak</em>', maybe...?<br/>