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what a tragic story, where the mother is both the victim and the villain. she ran away with the evil king and slowly killed all the good parts of her that was left, and ruined herself doing it.
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she was so, so terrible but she was trapped in this awful marriage that she couldn't leave because she was so sick and she kept having children even though we all almost killed her and i came out silent, already knowing i would spend the next seventeen years preparing for a war i never got the chance to spill blood in. instead, i came away with scars and my guts spilling through my fingers, and she took no part of herself from the battlefield. by the time i'd turned seventeen she lost the fight to stay here and motherhood burned all the goodness that was left out of her.
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how the title "mother" overwrote her as a person.
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i am a little girl. i am a soldier. i am my mother's daughter. my mother made me in her image but didn't leave me the softness and the bite of motherhood. my inheritance is getting to grow up for both of us, the person i am now and the little girl she used to be.
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does the grief ever get easier, or does it just get quieter?
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thinking about how when mothers die their daughters replace them, that small unintentional betrayal that every daughter eventually has to live with.
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