Robin, as a whole, died.

She awoke to ascension—floating, every cell in her body awakening, her revivified heart beating joy.

But when she arrived, she saw the rest of her resurrected self: skin and hair and scabs, pieces of her that had withered and fallen away across a lifetime.

And waited here.

They merged. Her intestines burst with years of linings; her bones splintered with accumulated marrow; her veins inflated with blood. Her mouth filled with old teeth, and she could not scream.

Everything lives forever in Heaven.