"Scared?" Ami let out the first laugh Adela had ever gotten out of her, though it was watery and self-deprecating. "No. I'm terrified. Every time flu season rolls around, I think about her. Her, in a bed like this, smiling and withering away." She sucked in a quick breath. "I don't... I'd rather die like Daddy. I don't want to wither."

A death on the battlefield wouldn't be drawn out, stained by the unkillable hope for the day she'd magically 'get better' as the people she loved watched her follow in her mother's footsteps.