“Mater, is it true that Aerith is a dangerous place?” My innocent question caused a subtle hitch in my mother's movements. The gentle rhythm of the comb gliding through my hair faltered even further as she absorbed my words. A single, knowing glance at the maids sent them hurrying out, leaving us alone in the vastness of my old, dark room. At first, I was confused, but I silently waited. In the comfortable silence, I watched her hands, pale as moonlight on glass, meticulously combing my dark locks, so like her own. Her eyes, the perfect shade of garnet, met mine in the mirror. A comforting smile touched her lips before she set the comb down on the vanity with a sigh, and seemed ready to answer my out-of-the-blue question. My mother’s movements have always been like the fluttering of a silver moth in the moonlight, all soft grace and quiet strength. “Is that what your father told you?” I am unsure how she knows, but I only nodded in response. A flicker of darkness danced in her
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