Later that afternoon, Bianca completed her packing. Sheathed in a different gown, she was prepared to depart. Her valise, a testament to her belongings, rested upon the bed, a silent sentinel of her impending absence. With a melancholic sigh, Bianca surveyed her childhood chamber. This sanctuary, once brimming with youthful exuberance, was now a mere vessel for farewell.
A crystalline sheen gathered in her eyes, but she swiftly banished the intrusion. Tears were a luxury she could not afford. They were a surrender, a lowering of her defenses. With resolute determination, she grasped the valise and ventured forth. Her mother's radiant smile awaited her.
Yet, another presence lingered, a spectral echo of joy. Bianca's mother, a ghost of happier times, wandered through the house, a poignant reminder of a life now stilled. The specter's movements were a painful ballet, a haunting tableau of what once was.
