Latest Blog Post

Mother

Sophie had heard whispers for weeks, Andreas and Sylvia speaking in tones too soft to carry, the scent of incense clinging to their clothes, the uneasy way the servants crossed themselves when Madison’s name came up. She thought it was just grief resurfacing again, a family habit they could never quite put to rest.

But that night, when she entered the hall, she froze.

Someone was standing by the window.
A figure too familiar to mistake, too wrong to believe.

The candlelight touched her cheek, and the air left Sophie’s lungs.
“Mum?” she said, but the word came out cracked, like it had forgotten how to exist.

Madison turned slowly. Her hair fell the way it used to, long, dark, alive. Her skin was impossibly smooth, her eyes bright with a kind of energy Sophie couldn’t name. Like time had been peeled back by divine hands.

Sophie’s mind stumbled between awe and terror.
Andreas hadn’t been lying.
The ritual had worked.

She thought of Sylvia, her gentle, restless daughter and her heart twisted. Had he asked of her virginity? Had she given?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Madison said softly, and the voice… it was hers. Warm and cutting at the same time. “You always make me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

Sophie stepped closer, trembling.
“You died,” she whispered.
“I changed,” Madison answered.

And yet, as her heart pounded and her mind screamed for sense, all Sophie could think was:
She’s really here.
And I still love her.