For a moment, nobody moved.
Serah stood at the foot of the bell tower, staring at the woman in the gray dress. The woman's face was older than Serah remembered it, though not by much. Her dark hair had strands of silver running through it, and her hands rested calmly in front of her as if she had simply stepped out of a nearby house after hearing the bell.
She looked exactly as Serah remembered her.
That was the cruelest part.
Serah had spent twenty-seven years carrying memories of her mother. She remembered the warmth of her hand, the sound of her voice, and the way she used to brush Serah's hair away from her face whenever she was upset. She remembered the final night, too, when her mother had pushed her away from the collapsing chamber and told her to run.
Serah had watched her die.
She had buried what remained of her.
And now the woman was standing in front of her, looking as though no time had passed at all.
"Mother?"
The word escaped Serah before she could stop it.
