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“Her mother’s voice – which came as a whisper in her ear – seemed so solid, so clear in Milly’s mind, that it was like insects preserved perfectly in amber. The warmth of her mother’s breath, the whiff of the peppermints she sucked, and the light tickle of her hair – all perfectly encapsulated in her cerebrum. And so as the girl blossomed into a teenager, she had by now learnt to live with this condition, and soon came to appreciate the specialness of it. Even dead, her mother would always be there. With her.” — J.Y. Sam
Her mother’s voice – which came as a whisper in her ear – seemed so solid, so clear in Milly’s mind, that it was like insects preserved perfectly in amber. The warmth of her mother’s breath, the whiff of the peppermints she sucked, and the light tickle of her hair – all perfectly encapsulated in her cerebrum.
And so as the girl blossomed into a teenager, she had by now learnt to live with this condition, and soon came to appreciate the specialness of it. Even dead, her mother would always be there. With her.