I've always been a romantic at heart. Even though I am the concoction of two cold parents, that never loved each other. Well, that's not giving my Mother enough credit. I have memories of her when she was softer, more forgiving. Until Father became the tyrant of our household. Then she was just a husk, she might as well be compared to a mindless, shambling, walking corpse. The only thing that connected Mother and I was jewelry. I remember sitting in her lap, when she sat at her vanity, I couldn't be much older than five winters. The way she would knit the beads together to make a bracelet or necklaces mesmerized me. Even more so when she would take her tools and tap around the uneven sides of each gem. To mold it into something beautiful, something that another person would enjoy. I wonder if Father even knows if she's dead and if he did, would he care? He'd probably only care that he no longer had a vessel, to continue his dynasty with.
Though, the Lords of Gondor are not lacking in women. Perhaps he moved on no sooner than, Mother's ashes hit the ground. But there is one Gondorian that I will always treasure. Who was both the bane and light of my existence. No one knew me as deeply as he did. I recently sold our cottage, because we needed more space. And I gave into Freawine when he brought a stray hound to the inn with him. Ray would be so happy, so indecently happy. His little boy, our little boy, so filled with life and appeal. Our little legacy that we created. He would know how to be a Father, far better than my own did. I found our wedding portrait as I was packing. Then I remembered that I never felt more hallow and empty in my entire life. But I keep going, I keep going because of the love I have for motherhood and the son that has brought so much light into the darkness of my wilting heart. Change is happening and I don't know where to go with it. It is no matter. What will be, will be.
