"It's me. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Vanessa's fingers drifted over Lieselotte's shoulder, her sharp nails grazing the skin just enough to sting. Then, without warning, she pulled Lieselotte into an embrace.
Lieselotte didn't resist; she stood there, rigid and dazed, as the familiar scent of her mother's perfume filled her nostrils.
It felt strange—this was the first time Vanessa had hugged her, at least that Lieselotte could remember. She had no memory of warmth from her mother.
This embrace was not comforting; it was tight and strange, a hand gripping her shoulder with authority, not affection.
Strands of Vanessa's hair, carried by the breeze, brushed against Lieselotte's face, tickling her skin in an almost mocking way. They stood in silence.
Then Vanessa's fingertips grazed Lieselotte's cheek.
