An account

A man's talking to a woman he is recently made immortal. She is very upset, talking about the moment when she would thought she was about to die, and how she would thought back on all these things in her life - her family, and the man she would almost married. I see an image of that man lying in a pool of blood with her kneeling beside him - injured in the line of duty; he is a fed, she was a cop. He survived that. She is saying to the man who made her immortal that she does not expect him to be able to understand any of this - it is implied that she thinks of him as too inhuman. He is annoyed. He says to her, if she is so fixated on dying, go right ahead. If a year goes by and she is still feeling so "inconsistent," come tell him, and he will kill her himself. He is entirely serious, but he believes that this will not be necessary - he believes that trying to make her focus on living will just drive her further into this self-destructive line of thought, but that if she spends time thoroughly thinking about death, she will stop desiring it. (Woke up. Back to sleep.) The soprano from the other night, looking a little younger here, is sitting in a room with another woman, both of them dressed all in white with long white gloves. There is a mirror on the wall behind them. This other woman is standing up and singing, holding sheet music in her left hand - it is light popular music; she sings prettily but not professionally. The door to the hall opens, and a third young woman says, complaining, "<PERSON>, it is almost dawn."