AMELIA

NINE YEARS AGO

The day my world shattered wasn't marked by storm clouds or ominous signs. Instead, the sun shone with cruel indifference, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness gnawing at my chest at. I stood before the mirror in my bedroom, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me. Her long black hair hung limp around a face too pale, too thin. Dark circles beneath eyes red-rimmed and a red nose from four nights of endless tears.

I smoothed down the front of my simple black dress, the fabric feeling foreign against my skin. At sixteen, I'd never owned anything so somber.

Mom would have hated it. She always said black washed me out, insisting I wear vibrant colors that "brought out the sparkle" in my green eyes.

I'd always argue that my eyes had no sparkle, but she would make me wear the brighter shades nonetheless.

But Mom wasn't here anymore. And today, I'd watch as they lowered her into the ground.

A soft knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts.

"Miss Ameli