Nothing happens. When someone dies, everything stops, and there is only death. With the passage of time, one begins to forget a little; the nothingness transforms itself into something less heavy. But in the end, its hard lightness reminds us that it was once there, and it only weighs on us a little less. Just as I had felt it the first time, the scent was like the shadow of a phantom forest. Juniper, sandalwood, oak, cedar, mahogany, guava, and rosewood aroused an aromatic trail leading to shelves filled with incense, crystals, and candles of every color and shape. Among the petals of a lotus, a floating Buddha diligently yet discreetly blessed the placid atmosphere of the shop. Reflecting in the door of the small office, a spherical prism resembling a baby's mobile formed a round rainbow. Cassandra opened the door and the psychedelic circle projected on the center of her back like the natural prolongation of an impenetrable equation; she lit a white candle and turned on her laptop almost at the same time.