In Venice, the one in Limbo, Kornglow and Leonore talked about Aretino.
"I wonder if he'll ever write his play."
"Perhaps he will. But not the real one. This one—the one in which we die every night, and are reborn every morning. I hope you're not afraid of death, my love."
"Perhaps a little. But we'll be alive again tomorrow, will we not?"
"That is my belief. But death now will feel like death while it is happening."
"Must we die now?"
"All of Venice dies tonight."
There is a clatter of hooves. Horsemen in the city. Mongols!
Kornglow fights valiantly, but he is run through with a lance. The Mongols try to seize Leonore, but she is too quick for them — the Mongol isn't born who can move faster than an elf's daughter. She runs out into the street and plunges into the water, swimming away from the city. The waves are high, walls are falling, and Venice is on fire. She watches for a moment, but she can stay afloat no longer. This is dying for the first time, and though it is difficult, she knows just how to do it. Her head slides beneath the waves.