Sunspire Mountains she slipped the lock, and changed her dress

a sadness that limned her tongue listlessly proclaimed the quietus of her eldest's existence. it all but nearly ripped tiercel from her grave-clothes, a mnemonic resurrection that made esmé tremble with indignation.  

how much had this mental gangrene consumed her mother's mind that her own child was naught but a myth, even standing before her? 

"i sincerely believe you wish that were true," she said, lids cresecenting impassibly as she gazed towards the melancholic woman she scarcely recognized were it not for her scent. esmé lurched to her feet and stepped partway towards her ...

and with her paw abruptly baled out a cold splash of water from the stream, aimed at wylla's face.

it was not a playful gesture, rather one intended to shock her. "real enough for you yet? what business do you have following me?"