One Hundred
And here she was, smiling crookedly at her memories. It was nice, to be able to go back, even for just a little while. She had aged well, she knew that; she was healthy, still able to move on her own, an amazing thing for someone of her age. But she knew that soon it would all stop.
The moon was waning.
She watched it out her window, night after night, waiting for it to become fully black, a disk of pure ebony in the sky. Thoughts and thrills filled her as she thought about it. What was going to happen after she was gone?
She had seen children playing in the streets below her window, had seen them grow into teenagers and then adults, happy and married, loving. She knew that she must have looked like that at some point; they all must have. But these people hadn't even been born when she had been that age; their parents hadn't, most likely. It was amazing, but nothing had changed.
A hundred years had past, and they were still the same.
She liked the feeling of safety.