*Thor*
My last memory is of her clearing horse dung off doorsteps because some oaf was idiotic enough to ride his horse into a residence. The lout could have been any one of a dozen swells I had known in my youth when I had gone through a rebellious period of which I am not especially proud, rebelling against the strict restraints that had been placed on me at such an early age.
I had also been longing for attention, striving to elicit some emotion, other than dispassionate non-caring, from my mother. Let’s just say she was very much an aloof Luna. I welcomed the heat of her anger over her cold frost. Gina’s story makes me even more ashamed of my rebellious past, grateful I had been too exhausted, is too exhausted still, to reveal much about myself.
I open my eyes to a room of shadows.
