Violet’s POV
It was dark.
The moonlight was just bright enough to highlight my mother’s high cheekbones, the ones I’d inherited, the feature that gave me enough pause to wonder whether or not I was looking in the mirror as I took in my surroundings.
“It must have been painful for Dad,” I said out loud, “to see his dead wife in me every day. I forget how much I look like you.”
Mom only smiled at me. She caressed the back of the couch we sat on, admiring the material.
“I always liked blue,” she said. “You got that from me, too.”
“It’s new,” I shared. “We just got the couch in yesterday.” But I furrowed my brows as I wondered if that was true.
What day was it?
“Violet.” My mother’s voice drew me out of my head, the urgency in it causing me concern. “War is coming.”
I sighed, letting
