***TRICIA***
“Your mother is no longer with us.” The healer’s voice was soft but final, stripped of any comfort.
The words hit me like a stone. They landed deep in my chest, sharp and cold, and refused to leave. For a long moment, I could not think. I could only hear the beat of my heart—slow, uneven, wrong.
The healer’s face swam before me, small and pale. Her eyes were wet, though her mouth was firm. “I’m sorry,” she said, but the words were thin, fragile threads that broke before they reached me.
I wanted to move. I wanted to run back inside, to shake my mother awake, to make her breathe again. But my legs would not obey. My hands trembled at my sides, useless. I wanted to hold her hand one last time, to feel it warm, to tell her I’d come back for her. But she was gone. The bed was
