She looked like home and that was the most scary thing of all.
Her hair had silver lines in it, but her eyes were the exact same warm brown color as my father's eyes. The same shape. The same soft light inside them. She stepped into the study room slowly, very slowly, like she was scared that the old wood floor under her feet might break and crumble. Her eyes went from the old journal lying on the floor to my face her look was soft, full of longing and want, and also guarded and careful all at once, like she did not know if she should come close or stay far.
"I'm Elara," she said in a gentle, quiet voice. "Your grandmother."
My throat became tight and it was hard to breathe. My chest felt tight too. "Everyone said you died. Everyone told me you were dead. Mom cried every time someone
