Berceuse for The Suffering (Complete)

7. {The Wrong}

In the dimly lit room, the air was heavy with a sense of foreboding. Linda stood in front of the mirror, her eyes fixated on the reflection staring back at her. Two girls stood behind her, identical in every way except for the tint of their souls. One a vibrant hue of innocence and light, the other a deep shade of sorrow and pain.

Linda clutched her old locket tight, its contents - a lock of hair and a faded photo - a reminder of the daughter she bore into this world. As the two girls behind her spoke, she listened intently, trying to find a way to make sense of what occurred.

A growl, then another growl. It was all growls and no words.

Linda remained quiet, her mind consumed by the overwhelming feeling of confusion and pain. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd be making a mistake in choosing between them. Her heart ached for what they said had happened.

Then the other spoke. Her voice, a soft pleading tone. The pain and suffering were nowhere to be heard because the pain was carried by the other.

But her daughter's words were lost in the cacophony of emotions swirling around the room. They continued to plead their case.

But as Linda gazed at the mirror again she couldn't help but cry when the other's eyes were filled with an otherworldly glint. She argued for her right to exist.

Amidst the pleading, Linda felt her resolve slowly crumbling. Was it possible that she'd be making the wrong choice? Was there a chance that the daughter she had lost be saved? Because none of the two were her.

"Mommy, please," the other pleaded.

Linda smiled, turned to face them and then hugged both. Oh, how she loves them. But she knew one of them must go.

***

Two decades ago

Night had descended upon the small town of Solana, cloaking it in a shroud of darkness. The chill in the air was palpable as if an icy hand had gripped the world in its frigid embrace. The fog crept in slowly, its tendrils spreading like fingers of mist, suffocating the night in its veiled breath.

All sounds were muffled as if an unseen force had muted the world. The silence was only broken by the faint sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. It was as if someone was moving in the stillness, shrouded by the thick fog.

The atmosphere was eerie as if the world had become a ghostly memory of itself. The only light came from the dim glow of the streetlights, flickering weakly in the dense fog. It was a strange and unsettling sight as if the night itself had turned into a living being, with a heart as cold as ice.

As the night wore on, unrelenting in its hold on the world, the chill and dread finally dissipated when the first light of dawn began to appear in the East

Meanwhile, on the second story of the house that the fences surrounded, Linda sat like a ghost on her bed, her image was a portrait of ominous despair, lines were etched deeply into her face as though carved with a chisel of worry. Her eyes, red-rimmed from ceaseless tears, shone with a dull glimmer, like the flicker of a dying candle in the black of night. Her lips trembled as silent prayers escaped them, a desperate plea to the heavens for the safe return of her beloved child. Her heart, heavy with fear, beat like the incessant tolling of a bell, each pulse a reminder of the relentless anxiety that gripped her soul. She was a statue of sorrow, frozen in time, a monument to the anguish of a mother longing to hold her child once more.

The man who sat beside her watched with despairing eyes as he too prayed for the safe return of their child. "Linda," he murmured. "You have to eat something. Should I prepare a meal for you?"