She was crying. Non stop. Crying. Her breath interupted by sobs. Aloud. And that was heartbreaking.
She was crying in the middle of the night. But nobody could comfort her. No-one.
She could hear her, crying. She covered her ears with her hands, but did nothing. She started to cry herself. Then, she woke up. Silent on the deep pitch black quarter. Carmen was no-where to be found.
Dead silence, but she still could hear her crying.
Because, far, far away, Tamara Johansen knew,
she was crying.