The dream came in fragments, the way nightmares always do.Mother's face filled my vision, younger than I remembered her, softer around the edges where grief hadn't yet carved its marks. She was smiling at me the way she used to before everything fell apart. We were in the garden behind the estate, spring sunlight filtering through the trees, flowers blooming in wild bursts of color everywhere I looked.Her hand was warm when she took mine, her fingers gentle as they threaded through my smaller ones."Mia stellina," she whispered, her voice like honey and home. My little star.Then the garden shifted without warning, the way dreams do when they turn dark. The flowers withered and died in seconds, their petals turning brown and falling to the ground like ash. The warm spring air became winter cold, biting and sharp. The ground beneath our feet froze solid, cracking with sounds like breaking bones.Mother's hand went cold in mine.I looked up at her and found her eyes empty, hollow and d
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