“She said I had my mother’s eyes, always edging towards the steep horizon, and my mother’s long hands, never still. As the story went, my mother sat one day beside an open window looking out over the snow, embroidering coronets on a dress for the christening of the child she carried. The maid warned her that she’d catch her death if she sat in the cold, letting snow drift in and sprinkle her work. My mother didn’t seem to hear. Just then the needle drove itself into her finger, and three dro...ps of blood stained the snow on the ebony window frame. My mother said to her maid, The daughter I carry will have hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow. What will she have that will save her from my fate? The maid had no answer, or not one that she could remember. Then the pains seized my mother and carried her away. Though I was so much smaller than she was, I was stronger; I had no reason not to want to live.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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