All her anger and rage were layered meters thick over the pain. It was an old song, an old scar. But it was there and she could feel it now, her bleeding soul and bludgeoned heart. The pain had followed her this far, walking in the outline of the hole her mother had carved in her when she left. When her mother looked around herself and saw that she didn’t want this life, that she deserved better, that she’d give up everything else to be comfortable again. A horrible certainty settled over her. “I’m her,” Gyre whispered.
