Nora stared at the little girl standing beside Mara.
She couldn't have been more than six years old.
Dark hair fell around a small face that looked painfully familiar. The same pale skin. The same shape of the eyes. Even the tiny scar beneath her left eyebrow was in the exact place where Nora's own scar had once been.
But the girl wasn't looking at Mara.
She was looking at Nora.
And she wasn't afraid.
“Mother,” the child whispered again.
Nora couldn't move.
The knife in Mara's hand dripped blood onto the stone.
“Mara,” Nora said, her voice barely steady. “What is this?”
Mara's eyes were filled with tears.
“You weren't supposed to remember this place.”
Elara stepped forward.
“You lied to her.”
Mara looked at her.
“I did what I had to do.”
“You made her believe she had never
