A Daughter's Taleby Wendy McVicker |
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I went gladly to the underworld, never looking back. My fear of him was nothing to the fear I felt of her. “Eat,” he said, and smiled. The berries were sharp and sweet, my fingers reddened. Out there, Mother closed down the world. Her fury was not the fury of fire, but of ice. Wherever she went it was winter — blasted trees, fallow rock–hard fields, no berries anywhere. The people mourned, but their tears could never warm her — no more than mine | ||||||||
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