" Some Dead are lost in the Wood, some rise higher, but many - so many - pass the White Door into the House, and become silent forever. Last night they thronged the entrance. Our mouths were healed wounds. Their eyes roamed my skin. Their hands sought my warmth, but my touch burnt, and they drew back. Their urgency infected me. "
Basically bad time to realize that you'd also be voiceless but whatever. story telling.