Lucy always wanted to grow up.
When she was a measly baby, she'd look up to her mother, with wide, doe eyes, and admire the way her hair was stylishly pinned up, the way the golden locks almost seemed to glow.
When Lucy hit the tender age of 3, she'd tug on the pearl orbs that curled around her mother's neck. She'd tug, and whine, constantly asking her mother for her own pair, yet all her mother did was smile lovingly at her, eyes warm and positively glowing, barely managing to stiffle her giggles at her daughter's demands. Giggles that Lucy would dream about in the years to come, yearning to hear her mother's warm voice, if one last time.
By the age of 7, Lucy had developed a habit of observing the articles of clothing her mother wore. From bright, satin gowns that would spill around her mother's figure gracefully, hugging her slim waist, and large bossom, to a skimpy, velvet tanktop, and pair of comfortable looking sweats, that her father would frown in disapproval at, that her mother had taken to wearing during the harsher days of July.
By 9, Lucy had decided that she'd grow up to be like her mother.
She yearned to move in the same grace as her, even in those high, laced up, dark heels that her mother would wrinkle her nose at, a frown adorning her soft features, before she'd tug them on, anyway. Lucy wished for the soft spoken voice her mother spoke with. that would calm down her father, no matter how upset or angry he was. She wanted to have a similar attitide to her mother's, easy-going, and kind, yet an attitude that warned of a hidden edge. She wanted an aura like her mother's, gentle, warm, and most importantly, loving, and inviting.
All Lucy wanted, was to be half the woman her mother was.
Then, she died.
One day, Lucy woke up, and just like that, her mother was gone.
She'd barely managed to hug her mother's cold body, tears staining her face, as she hiccuped with barely contained cries, before she was harshly torn away from her. Yet, in the years to come, Lucy would still remember the chills that ran up her spine as her tears pitfully hit her mother's pale, chilling skin.
She'd remember the way all her dreams shattered, that day, and came to a grinding stop.
And so, Lucy stopped idolizing her mother. She stopped counting the days until she'd walk in the same grace as her.
Lucy abandoned her dreams, and let the days blur by.
And before she knew it, Lucy was in her mother's place, blood staining the rags that used to be her tanktop and skirt, as the love of her life layed in the exact position as her 9 year old self, lost, scared, and alone, sobbing his heart out over her corpse, the exact way she had, that day.