She had been desperate for a baby for some time. She knew Septimus would be a good father; (a handsome, intelligent, scientific and brave man). At least he was. He was a little out of sorts that’s all. All this talk about killing himself was surely not good for love making. Make your way to his bedroom, she thought, just to be touched (Dr Holmes paid more attention to her than poor Septimus did!). ‘Septimus?’ she said stiffly, for he was lying on the bed without expression. Septimus Warren Smith saw her enter the room, he saw her standing in the doorway as the light hit her waist and dripped down like blood. ‘Septimus?’ she said again, sitting down now. How close she was! Yet how far away, like the forest and the desert. I want to be touched, she thought again, ‘hold me Septimus’ she whispered, leaning against his chest. But he just lay there, without feeling. He felt nothing. She began to wrap her branches around his trunk and he shuddered, ‘touch me Septimus’ cried Rezia, holding his idle hands with hers. Septimus murmured something, eyes skywards. ‘Please Septimus, enough of this. We are married, in love. Please Septimus, touch me’, she linked their fingers and squeezed (had she left the porridge on the stove?); I just want to be touched. Septimus tried to reach up to her, to brush the leaves from her face but he was immobilised. He lay in a pool of blood and saw Rezia peering down at him; she was murmuring ‘touch me, touch me’, foliage protruding from her chest. He tried once more to brush the leaves from her face but the dead had other ideas. ‘Kill yourself’ they whispered, the blood began to cascade over the bed. He had been desperate to die for some time.