[/html]She used to fantasize about it sometimes, the eventual return of their mysterious mother. Kharma had said that Myrika took after her, and so Cassandra had imagined an older version of her sister with white streaks in her hair and bluer eyes to her turquoise. She had imagined a cheerful, girly voice with a bubbly, youthful laugh, full of the kindness and optimism their father always spoke of. When Kharma stopped telling stories, she was left to make up ones of her own, but over time, as the months passed and no one came, the stories in her head became darker, less pleasant. There had to be a reason no one came.
"Our mother could be like that too," she said. "Weird, or mean, or with other kids. She could have changed. Found someone else. Why else? If she isn't dead." Cassandra stood from the couch suddenly, tail twitching. "Sorry," she said hurridly. "I just... I like it here. I like it with just us, too, and... I don't know." The albino girl didn't really know what she was trying to say. She didn't usually say so much, and perhaps that was exactly the reason why. Her words never came out the way she wanted; she stumbled over them, and she had a hard time standing behind them. Frequently, it felt like she only knew how to say the wrong things, whether they were insensitive or just inappropriate for the situation.
She went back to the bags and started to double check that everything was secured and properly tied and closed. "Are the horses ready? Do you think they know they won't be home a while?"
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