2 minutes, 10 seconds (Camren)

10

They sat on her bed—this time she had plucked up the courage to go in—and Camila was flipping through an old book of hers.

"It's the diary of this old woman, A supposed witch who lived around these parts. She was trying to find a possible way to get in contact with the dead. This was back in 1870. I found it by accident roaming around the chapel."

"You found this down there?"

"Well, it was locked in this small copper chest. I cracked it open. The only thing that got my interest was this."

"So, you pilfered a dead woman's chest?"

Lauren smiled wryly. "Probably.

"Read the first page. The first words."

Camila did.

I write this for you, my darling Death, my elusive companion. May we meet on the day of your own death, so that I may put a flower on your grave. I know no one else will. For you see, my darling Death, no one else will be alive.

She shivered. "Wow. Spooky."

"I feel I can relate."

She laughed.

The sound was lovely. Wonderful, even. She laughed in such a peculiar way. If Lauren had to describe it, she would say that she laughed so that laughter itself could exist. Camila laughed for her. She laughed for everyone.

She would never tire of it. It was so rare now a days that sometimes she couldn't believe it. She cherished it, like a long lost memory that kept coming back to her in the curve of her lips and the crinkling of her eyes. She always tried to make her laugh. And it seemed to be working.

"I guess we both can," she spoke.

"Read the last sentence."

If someone else should ever read this, then I won't be alone.

Camila looked up at her. Lauren looked back.