Tressi and her mother had little resemblance. The sharp angles of her mother had become soft lines in Tressi's face. Both of them had dark eyes but her mother's held none of her warmth. The long coarse curls of her mother had become straight silken strands in the daughter. With Dala however, there were obvious signs of strikingly beautiful features ravaged by time.

Igna Peren could be excused for wondering if they were related.

"Tressi, you have come back," she stated. No surprise. No emotion. Just an observation. Her runaway daughter had come back.

Her eyes flitted down to take in her daughter's appearance, lingering on her ring finger.

"What's his name?"

"Des Gemira."

One corner of her lip pulled up in a semblance of a smile.

"Come in, I was just about to make some tea. I hate having to start over."

She did not know what she had built up in her head, but this wasn't it. But then again, with her mother, nothing was predictable.

Tressi followed her mother into her room and sat on a couch that was pushed up to a corner. Threads were coming out of the upholstery. The place could not be called messy per se. It was just old. Like everything else she had seen till now, this room too, gave the impression of a once handsome room whose best days were behind it.

It smelled damp. Moisture hung heavy in the air. The surfaces looked as if they were moments away from breaking out in a dew.

Lapec wasn't cold; it was just humid.

Uncomfortable.

You never knew if you'd be better off with a sweater or cotton. The water clung to the skin.

Dala Sakit came back carrying two cups of tea. Tressi brought it closer to her face to drink, as the vapour rose before her in a mist.

Sweet.

Too sweet.

The acidic sweetness stung her tongue. She didn't take sugar in her tea, but of course Dala didn't care. Just like how it'd been when she was young. She held the cup with both her palms, absorbing the warmth.

Her mother sat on the high backed chair that was placed opposite the couch. It looked like good quality leather that had seen better days. Dala took a sip from her own cup and set it down on the coffee table.

She leaned forward. "I thought you'd never come back, you know. Though I hoped I'd see you one last time," her eyes wandered over the walls, "it gets lonely sometimes. I have become an old witch."

A sneer pulled up one side of her lip.

"Ironic, huh?" replied Tressi.

"Oh it just tickles me, Tress. Do you know I sometimes see my mother when I look in the mirror? Do you have any idea how scary that is?"

"I do know," Tressi murmured.

Mrs. Sakit's eyebrows lifted up. "Oh, I suppose that's fair. But enough of that. Let's chit chat. You're here alone. Where's the husband?"

"He's away at a conference."

Dala smirked. "Still keeping secrets, Tressi? That never ends well."

"You're one to talk."

Dala held her palms up in surrender. "Let's not fight right away. It's been six years. What does your husband do?"

"He's an accountant."

"Steady job? I can see the appeal. Although an accountant? You might be overcompensating, Tressi."

Tressi's fists balled up at the condescension. "I really couldn't overdo it mother. Nothing would be enough." The bitterness in her voice was hard to hide.

"Ah. Yes. Your grievances. Must have been lots. Have you been brooding all this time? On how horrible I was?" Dala asked, simpering.

Tressi shrugged. "Not really. I haven't thought about you much."

Pain flashed across Dala's face. But it was only for a second—like a mask had been pulled away abruptly. But soon, the usual sneer settled into place. "Did you wish I never existed, Tressi? That I'd go away if you didn't talk about me?"

Although the words were spitting—scathingly said—Tressi could hear a note of hurt behind them. Dala seemed to be struggling to hold on to her air of contempt.

"That's what I hoped," Tressi said quietly.

"Why've you come now then?" she scoffed.

"Because I need your help."

Dala's brows furrowed together. "Help? Why would you need help? What's wrong?" There was a flash of something in her mother's features but it was gone before Tressi could decipher what it was.

"Nothing's wrong, Mother. I just want to move on and live my life and not look back." A sudden urgency had crept into her voice. "I need to know what happened. The truth. Not half truths and hidden lies. I want... No, I need to know what happened. I need to know why she died."

"Why?"

"Why?" Tressi asked, outraged.

Dala shrugged. "Yes. After all these years, what's the point?"

"The point is that my sister—your daughter—was killed. And you won't even talk about it. You want to know why I ran? Because I couldn't stand to be near you. Your daughter died and you couldn't care less. You acted as if she never existed in the first place! I couldn't take it and I ran. But now, I can't run anymore, so please tell me. Do you know anything at all? She lived with you. You shipped me off to that hell-on-earth that you called a boarding school, but she still lived at home. So you must know something at least. Help me make sense of this." Tressi wrung her hands and fought hard against the tears clawing up her throat; the last thing she wanted was to sound desperate in front of the woman.

At her daughter's words, the mask slipped once more—for longer this time. "I don't know what happened that night, Tressi. But I'll tell you one thing: forget this and move on. She's gone. Leave this place and don't come back. It'll do you so much good. Trust me on this."

"Don't you feel even a little bit guilty? You weren't there that night. You should've been there. You should've stopped your daughter from getting murdered. How can you not feel even a little bit guilty?" Tressi asked, throwing her hands up in the air.

"And what'll that achieve? She's long gone. There's nothing we can do about it." Dala matched her daughter's tone.

Tressi slammed her hand against the coffee table and stood up as her cup toppled over. She didn't spare a glance to the muddy brown liquid that formed a pool at her feet, staining the floor. "You haven't changed at all! You're just the horrible witch you were all those years ago. I don't know why I kid myself into thinking that'd ever change."

Dala stood up too. "I'm the villain. Is that it? Is that what you want me to say? Or maybe you want me to say that I killed her? Is that why you came?"

"There's just no talking to you. I just want to know, Mom. Is that so bad? I have nightmares about it. Every. Single. Day!" Tressi's voice shot up three octaves.

"Oh, trust me, Tressi. It's better to live with imaginary horrors than real ones. See a good doctor. Throw some medicine at it. Move on. Don't look back. I didn't search for you when you left. Did I?"

"Was that supposed to be a favour? Who does that? Who doesn't look for their daughter when she runs away?" Her voice broke.

"It was a favour. You were so much better off being away from this place. Don't you like your life now? Why do you want to stir up dead, decayed, old trouble after all this time?"

The image of the plastic stick that could have so easily shown two pink lines, popped up in front of Tressi's eyes. But there was no way she was going to tell her mother that. There was no way she'd make herself so vulnerable in front of the woman. So instead, she said, "Is that what you think of your daughter's murder? 'Dead, decayed, old trouble'?"

Just as Dala opened her mouth to reply, there was a knock on the door and Igna Peren stumbled into the room."I heard raised voices. Is everything all right?" she asked, looking frantically between the mother and daughter. She was slightly out of breath from running up the stairs.

Tressi blushed scarlet as she felt the tips of her ears heating up. Once again, their family was a spectacle. "Yes, yes. Everything's fine. I was just leaving."

Dala opened a drawer and flung a key at her daughter's feet. "That's the key to our old house. Your father left it to you and once you left, I couldn't live there anymore. The deeds are with the bank. Sell it. Get rid of it. I don't care."

Tressi picked up the key and rushed out of the room, brushing past the warden.

She walked to the end of the lane breathing hard. The clouds closing down upon her made it seem as if there wasn't enough air, enough space.

As the rain poured, it hid the tears streaming down on her face.