Francine reads of a forest where people go to die. She tries to sound out its name: Aokigahara. Hara, she writes, could be repeated when brushing teeth. Francine loves her bottles of bleach like light bottles against heartache. Hara, heartache. They are bodies with light when they walk in, she writes, but soon darkness and the trees carry all the sadness in their arms, then sway. They sway, she writes, all the way until Mercy sings. Francine believes in such things as Mercy and the sea. If only the forest could hold them, she writes, but it does. Which is right. Francine reads of a forest and weeps. Where people go to die, she writes, I should go with my light-bleach and sing. Francine believes in such things as Mercy and the sea.