It had been a day that Acacia didn't remember too well, but well enough. The painter had been a family friend. The painting itself had been stored away after mother left. She wondered if Chrysanta even remembered that.
"Well... she was a bit like you and Chrysanta. Kind and compassionate, but quite stubborn. She did love us, I know that." Enough to leave. Enough to be scared that she would hurt them. "She loved the rain."
"Well... she was a bit like you and Chrysanta. Kind and compassionate, but quite stubborn. She did love us, I know that." Enough to leave. Enough to be scared that she would hurt them. "She loved the rain."
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