Prologue ~
I don't remember my mother very well. My memories of her are clipped and broken; fragments of scents, sounds, and voices that seem to resurface only in my deepest dreams.
When I think of her, I think of winter. I think of the brisk, icy breeze, and the sharp bitter cold of the snow under my bare feet. When I think of her, I think of emptiness. The emptiness that I feel when I wonder why she isn't with me anymore, or why she chose the path for my life that she did.
Most importantly, when I think of my mother, I think of silence. I think of a small, nervous figure standing in the frost, who didn't say a word when she left my brother and I behind.
When I think of her, I wonder if she ever even thinks about us.