--- o For the Spooktober Prompt #6: Prescient 0 ---

   Myrr spent the better half of the evening crying in her arms. The swell of anger, relief, and happiness overtaking the grief she felt for so long. After all, had mother not abandoned her? It was the only thing that made sense to her at the time, she hadn’t the slightest clue on how she wound up in this strange place, nor why she could not find her parents. Thankfully, she was taken in by a local couple who saw her as their own, but she never stopped searching. And maybe, just maybe her mother was here for the same reason, though deep down she knew that wasn’t the case.

   Truth be told, mother did look different than what she remembered. Much younger, yet older at the same time. Was it the eyes? The pastel blue hollows that held no hint of the light she was used to. The gaunt face that bore not a hint of a smile, a smile she was used to. But it was still her, right? If so, where was father? Was he elsewhere searching, or had he too, gone missing? So many questions to ask.

   This woman was almost the polar opposite, a warm smile and bubbly demeanour she maintained around everyone, though the girl always knew there was a well-hidden melancholy and the more than occasional bouts of depression that took her. But this woman. Elly. There was no such light in her eyes, they were tired — Broken. There was no maternal warmth she expected, and knew so well, merely a flat lukewarm that bordered on coldness, vying to display what scant affection was left for her.

   Maybe it was the way Elly looked at her with an expression of unfamiliarity, like she did not know her, made her chest hurt. Did she forget? Or had she never even cared enough to do so? The feeling of disquiet growing by the moment, and it didn’t take long to notice the woman freezing momentarily, almost flinching whenever she said that word. Mom. Mother.

   Myrr didn’t understand, but she couldn’t ask her even if she tried, for, like her mother, talking was an effort so reticence was the norm for them, and whenever she found the courage to do so, it quickly fled her the moment the words crossed her lips. Find her parents? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did she not recognize her? Her own daughter? She didn’t even know her name, the one she gave her. Yet still she held onto the faint hope Elly would remember her, that she was her mother, it was the only thing holding her together at this point.

   They managed to find somewhat adequate provisions for a meal between them, now sat by a warm fire beneath the shelter of a building yet to crumble beneath its own weight. Both huddled up near eachother for warmth, though Elly seemed to avoid direct contact, something that further deepened Myrr’s unease. It was as if she was constantly on edge, and she was starting to feel the same way.

   Still, it was the first time in a while she managed to sleep somewhat peacefully, head rested against her mother’s lap. The familiar scent of magnolia and honeysuckle, with a hint of cinnamon, vanilla, and something else soothed her as it always did. As she oft did, she thought of better times. Remembering things that perhaps only she knew happened, or maybe was yet to happen? But it felt like the more she did, the less opaque they were, as though recollection instigated fading, sapping away the very notion of what little hope she so desperately held onto. The bad dreams she was so used to could not find her here, and would hopefully never do so again.

   The rain fell hard now, breathing upon brick and thatch with impunity, almost as if it wanted to get in. It was a particular anxiety that seemed to mirror the the mood. And the more she thought about it, the more she was certain it was the source of her unease.

   It felt familiar, yet she could not fathom why.

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