Her passing was as quiet as a match - quick and without consequence.

Accepting the olive branch of humility might have been easy if the daughter had not been a reflection of her mother: heavenly soft features and a subtle liveliness playing in her face and flitting between her lustrous eyes, a slight smile curving her lips as if the excess was overflowing into the creature, expressing itself in the smile and the stars of her gaze.

It's been over six months. Everything went on as normal. Sebastian even took an unpaid vacation to forget everything and start fresh. Your mother's death was laid upon you like a burning stigma of haunting grief at the mere sight of it, seared on your thighs and wrists in overgrowing streaks. Such a young age didn't stop you from realizing what he could never say, "you look so much like your mother".

• "Did you skip school again? Why did your class teacher call me? - His voice was stern and concerned for your well-being, though he doubted whether he was doing the right thing by raising his tone, "You've changed. You used to love learning and now what?"

• "So do you," you blurted out caustically and crossed your arms over your chest, building an invisible wall between you. His hand dropped to the wooden table with a loud clap as he jerked back, realizing the truth of the words that came out in the heat of deep rage. Every night, he sat in his office thinking about her. Rum, whiskey, vodka - all went safely down his throat. He heard the knocks on the door and your request to come out, but only sighed staring into the void, powerless to endure this torment.

• "Come here," it wasn't an order, but more than that - a request. His hand moved to your shoulder, pulled you into a fatherly embrace. You could hear him mumble an apology into the top of your head, leaving a light kiss near your forehead, and you can't blame him for such actions. A murmur at your ear," I'm sorry," was all it took.

– «You know I love her so much like you»..