Moonspear southern gothic

Silence befell the young Ostrega, giving way for her sister’s words. She listened to each one of them, hung onto the sentences as if they were a lifeline—someday, perhaps the pain of losing them would plague her no longer. Someday, perhaps she may be able to think of their lives without choking up, remember them fondly without a wave of sorrow crashing down around her. Someday, someday…

But, in the meantime, she would do as now both Hydra and Dirge suggested—tell others about them. Teach the new youths of the mountain about their grandparents, share with them the tales of their greatness. For as long as their memory may live, so might they, even if only in spirit. And to this Yama nodded, accepting it as something to ease her troubled mind. “I… I’ll do that,” she said in return, though not yet able to muster a smile to accompany her words. But someday, someday—until then, she would grow the best she could. Until the day came that the pain no longer followed her, she would live on and share their lives.