Phoenix lay back on the bed, her mind swirling with thoughts that refused to quiet. The sting of her mother's slap still lingered on her cheek, but it was the echoes of their confrontation that stung more.
She closed her eyes, and memories she had buried deep began to resurface, pulling her into the warmth of a time long gone.
She saw herself as a child, no more than five, sitting in a small ornate chair in her mother's chambers. Her tiny legs swung back and forth, her energy boundless even when still.
Nicola knelt behind her, a silver comb in hand, gently untangling Phoenix's wavy black hair. With a delicate touch, she wove it into a small braid, her movements careful and precise.
The queen's face then was softer, her gaze filled with warmth and love as she reached for a cluster of tiny flowers, weaving them into the braid. Phoenix looked up at her mother through the reflection in the mirror, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity.
