Told you I had a plan for a sequel. :) and I am super stoked to write it, which is why the prologue is up so quickly haha. So I hope you enjoy! I'm going to try to tie up a couple loose ends I noticed as well, so hopefully everything sort of works together and makes some sense. If there's anything you want to see expanded on, or explained, or ANYTHING from Those who Favour Fire, just message me and I'll see what I can do! xoxo, Carolyn.
If we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives.
– Lemony Snicket
There was blood and sweat, and enough tears to fill a bell jar, but on the sixteenth of April, 1968, a five pound, four ounce baby girl was born with a tiny skiff of blonde hair and big, round eyes like the ocean at midnight. Her father wasn't there, he didn't even know that today was her birthday, but her uncle was at the bedside to cut the cord, and her mother's best friend had held her mother's hand through the entire six-hour ordeal.
When she sucked in air and cried out, weak and rough and strangled, but a cry nonetheless, her mother cried. But this time she was happy, happier than she'd ever been in her life, because this was her daughter, and she was somebody's mother, and it was like an anchor in her chest and the end was that baby across the hospital room getting wiped down and wrapped up in a soft beige blanket.
"She looks just like you," Mark muttered, watching Ruby stroke the sleepy baby's cheek with the back of her finger.
Sophie could do nothing but stare into her baby's face and study her: her eyes and little nose, tiny pink tongue peeking out from barely parted lips – she could do nothing but stare into her perfect, beautiful, miraculous child's face and disagree with Mark. This baby barely looked like her at all.
No, she was the mirror image of Timothy Shepard.