KARIN
With her eyes closed, the past pressed closer. Memories long buried began to surface, slow and uneasy, as if they resisted being touched. Her mother appeared in fragments rather than a whole picture. Beautiful, yes. Long dark hair that caught the light.
Warm brown eyes, the same shade Karin saw in her own reflection. But beauty had never been the most important thing about her.
There had always been small details that never fit. The garden behind their home had thrived no matter the season. Plants grew fuller, greener, as if the soil itself favored her hands. Animals wandered close without fear. Birds lingered. Strays followed her. Even the air around her had felt calmer.
And then there were the dreams.
“She used to tell me she dreamed of wolves,” Karin said softly. The words
