Emma stood staring at the woman everyone else called Snow, still trying to fathom how she could possibly be her mother. She examined the passion in her eyes and stared at her delicate nose and glistening lips in a desperate attempt to find just one similarity between them. She was so engrossed in analysing her every feature that she had descended into her own world of silence; a silence so unbelievably quiet that it was almost deafening.
Emma looked deeper into her mother's eyes. They were lifeless and sad, and could only be described as the smashed window to her bruised and battered soul.
She couldn't bear to look at her mother any longer and looked away thoughtfully as one precious tear trickled gradually down her rounded cheeks. Emma had spent her entire life searching for her mother; dreaming of what a magical and heartfelt reunion it would be. Now, more than anything, she wished she had never found her at all.
