The basket slips from Numenessa's hands, spilling herbs across the ground. She stands still, not out of fear. Her eyes catch her reflection.
The river that flows through her garden is clear tonight, with moonlight transforming its surface into liquid silver. And there, looking back at her, is a face she sometimes forgets she possesses. Beautiful. Haunting. Unmarked by the years of violence and rage.
The face of the girl who died twenty-five years ago. A sob escapes her throat, followed by another. She sinks to her knees beside the water, hands pressed to the earth, her body trembling with grief that never truly heals. Memories rise like floodwaters.
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
She was eighteen, beautiful in that way young girls are before life teaches them about cruelty. Her long dark hair w
