“Is that our mother?” Darcy breathed beside me. And as the woman in the image turned her face to look up at the sky, I realised she was right. There were some resemblances to us in her features. Her dark eyes were framed by thick lashes, almost like a mirror image of ours and something about the set of her full lips seemed familiar too. “Yeah,” I agreed. “But what is this?” Darcy shrugged as the image shimmered and changed. Our mother was walking along grand halls, carrying the fruits she’d bought in the market laid out on a wide platter. She approached a set of double doors and paused outside
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