6 years ago
The gardens of our home were alive with the laughter of my sisters, chasing each other between rose bushes and trimmed hedges, their dresses streaked with grass stains that I imagine the head maid will sigh over later while doing their laundry. Our mother, Amara, sits at a small wrought iron table draped in lace, a teacup in her fragile hands, her eyes alight with warmth and adoration as she watched her daughters play.
I stride across the stone path toward her. My jaw worked, the words that I carried, I wasn’t sure if it was a good time, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to say them right now.
Mom’s head turned, as she heard my footsteps, her smile blossoming despite the shadows of her illness written on her face. “Hello, my sweet Eryx.”
My teeth clenched at my name—I am sta
