Firefly Glen yomblod

Ezra had said this, all along. He'd warned Anselm that his mother was sick. Anselm refused to see it, even when the evidence was right there. Where was the fire? The stirring ember of resentment?! He was tempted to keep kicking her while she was down until that merciful flame became a phoenix reborn; to fight, god damn you.

He could only listen in growing horror as she laid there and painted out the picture of what truly happened; a reality so very different from the mental picture he'd comprised in his head. Heda, the monster mother. Heda, the selfish whore. Heda, the unthinking weakwilled woman who never bothered to search for Anselm.

Now the pieces fit into place, revealing a picture so ugly Anselm wished his false narrative was real instead.

There was no joy in learning Amadedo was gone on the heels of Heda -- now Skaigona -- admitting one fatal thing.

She bit you. Anselm blanched. The birdsong between them seemed loud and unfathomably coarse; like laughter at a funeral.

You mean to leave us. And he could not help the break in his voice as his whole world began to crumble, taking on the singular spectral vision of Heda laid there like a corpse at dawn.