Author's note: I recently lost my mother. Recently to me is February of this year. To some of you it may seem like ages ago. Winter has passed since, winter is coming. Another February is coming. The first Christmas without my Mother I am facing. This year also, my sisters' Mother died. My Godfathers' wife died. This story is in honor to the seven of them… the seven of us. Dead and alive. Anne, Kate, Eva, Violet , Andrew, Bojeena, Janus …

This is for you.

XxXxXxX

It was dark.

She remembered the scream in the dark.

Her scream.

The silence, the lack of scream as her mother faced the blade.

All she could remember was her own scream and the lack of scream as her mother fell.

Her mother's eyes. Her lifeless eyes. Staring at her, after Slade Wilson slid the blade through her. Her earrings. Her necklace.

The date. What came after. What she wore. The way she'd held on to her mother's clothes.

Moira Queen. The name she would forever have to read on a grave.

Moira Queen.

Thea Queen.

Oliver…

Oliver Queen.

Queen.

A lie.

A lie she refused to live.

She would not die with this lie.

Her brother had lied to her way too many times.

Her father saved her.

Her true father, not Robert Queen, but Malcolm Merlyn.

She was not Thea Queen, but Thea Merlyn now.

She refused to be weak, to be hurt. She refused to die.

Malcolm Merlyn would teach her how to live.

He would teach his daughter how to be strong.