Lying here, I can see nothing. It is here that Voldemort's self will beat me on his third try.
With my death, Ginny will be locked inside this chamber.

Colors surround me, most too murky to distinguish through the pain.
Yet some flash clearly. In this stone chamber there is only one thing they can be.

Red-Orange.
Ginny.
Doomed here, dying by my failure.

Green.
Basilisk.
Dead by my hand.

Scarlet.
Fawkes.
Crying for our deaths.

Riddle's menacing footprints echo loudly in my mind.
My mind screams in agony from the colors, the echoes.

Fawkes is crying. The colors unspin.