As the hapless events leading up to the girl's death sunk in, Cora became quite certain that she was indeed dredging up the memories of Little Cora's mother, Lianna Butters, the very soul whom she had been searching for all this time. Upon the cusp of this realization, echoes of a theory that Cerberus shared when they first entered the maze shot across her mind like a beacon in the dark.

I have heard speculation in the past about your kind's abilities to relive the lives of the dead. I would assume these powers are meant to help you better understand the attachments that might bind a soul to the mortal plane. The burdens that they cling to oftentimes prevent them from traversing through the gate to their next destination.

These words set something alight inside her like a crack of lightning.

Immediately, Cora closed her eyes and willed the wave of emotions to wash over her. She waded through the memories of a melancholy childhood in Haywood Park. More sounds, images, and feelings emerged from the swirling depths of Lianna's consciousness. Memories of being told to be quiet, be still, be good. Memories of a cold, distant father and a flighty, distracted mother, and a distinct feeling of being unwanted, of being a nuisance to everyone.

Cora ached when a very particular thought flashed across her mind. It was a heartfelt vow—born entirely from a young girl's embittered experience with rejection and negligence—to never put her own child through such misery. Her child would surely be adored beyond measure and never want for anything. She intended to play with her, read with her, and dote upon her...

Cora's powers began to churn and rattle from within as she continued to search for more slivers of Lianna's presence within the well of memories. More visions flashed before her like a shaky film projector. She witnessed the day Lianna met Theodore at a friend's garden party. Dear, sweet Teddy who came to love Lianna more than both her absentee parents combined. These lovely moments then flickered to images of smiling guests accompanied by the sweet lull of a string quartet from their wedding in a grand old church. Cora experienced the morning when Lianna learned that she was pregnant. A most wondrous and joyous celebration! Eventually, she arrived at the day Little Cora was born, the day Lianna finally became a mother in her own right. Without question, it had been the happiest day in Lianna's life.

Then came the guilt, the grief... and the madness.

Suddenly, Cora's entire body seized up with nerve-biting agony. This day had started out like any other. Lianna and Little Cora had been positively jubilant as they frolicked around the maze, as they had done hundreds of times before... Little Cora only disappeared for a few minutes. They were playing hide-and-seek. Lianna didn't know Little Cora was in danger! She didn't know! Her precious baby girl had been in the fountain all along. Where she drowned. An all-encompassing urge to weep racked through her body. It was all her fault, her fault, her fault... Why didn't she find her sooner? How could she not have heard Little Cora's cries for help?

The soul-crushing emotions crashed into her over and over again. Her grief over the precious few years they shared together as mother and daughter... and the darkness that followed. The not eating, the not sleeping, the longing for her own death... so she could rejoin her daughter... as penance for her negligence and inability to save Little Cora when she needed her mother most.

Such depth of pain and suffering most certainly couldn't have arisen from the careless, flighty socialite of a mother that the witches had implanted in Cora's head years ago. Briefly, Cora wondered why Circe and her sister chose to skew and falsify Lianna's memories with their magic. Lianna's real memories, however, felt so real that she could barely breathe through the experience of each horrific episode.

Right when Cora thought she would implode from the intensity of it all, a gentle wind fluttered across her skin, cool and brisk, but not chillingly so. Cora gasped when the voice of the severed hand returned, soft and airy as ever.

"Placet auxilium eius. Placet auxilium filia mea."

Please help her. Please help my daughter.

Cora's eyes flitted open. She didn't know if the voice was actually speaking aloud for everyone to hear—or if the utterances were only whispered for her ears only... Did the hand belong to Lianna's spirit? Had Lianna been speaking to her all along?

Little Cora's eyes grew wide as she stared up at Cora. She looked delighted but also confused. "Ma... ma? What-what are you doing here? What happened to Miss Cora?"

Cerberus surveyed Cora with a faint smile. Then, he winked at her. "Motherhood suits you... Mrs. Butters."

Without any mirrors or reflective surfaces nearby that could be used to examine her appearance, all Cora could do was bring her hands to her face. As her fingertips traveled across skin and flesh, Cora noted that her eyes felt smaller, and her eyebrows seemed to have grown thicker with a more pronounced brow bone. A small bump protruded from the ridge of her nose, and her lips were wider and fuller. No wonder Little Cora and Cerberus were staring at her in such a way. Her features had definitely changed again, and, judging by the girl's warm reception, Cora guessed that she now embodied the very image of Lianna Butters.

Cora didn't know how she felt about deceiving the child. The morality of the situation certainly felt uncomfortably murky. Yet, it remained her duty as a gatekeeper (was it not?) to help Little Cora learn the news of her death so the undead girl could finally move on, which might then allow Cora to help Lianna move on, and then Theodore... Surely, Little Cora would prefer to receive such awful tidings from her mother rather than a strange, immortal being. No?

Unrest gnawed at her bones.

Cora didn't doubt that her task would've been easier if she remained in Lianna's form, but, after her years-long daze under the witches' spells, she abhorred deceptions and machinations in all their manifestations. Furthermore, she reasoned, if, in life, a mortal was unable to confront the truth and root of his or her sufferings, then death only punished them further by entrapping their souls within the memories that haunted them. Running away and sugarcoating the harsh reality of it all wasn't the answer.

At that moment, Cora decided to abandon Lianna's appearance and slid into another form as easily as one might change a jacket or skirt. She recalled an archaic-looking illustration of Artemis that Circe had once shown her in a book of Greek myths. Cora willed her hair to trail down to her ankles in long silvery waves like the lunar goddess in the painting. Her eyes began to glisten like iridescent moonstones. There was no longer anything remotely human about her facade. She had chosen this form rather purposefully—to let Little Cora know that there was nothing mortal about her, about this realm, about the journey they were about to embark upon together... 

This time, Cerberus was the one whose crimson eyes widened with shock. A dark emotion that Cora couldn't quite put her finger on flickered across his features. He swallowed, hard, but said nothing. Cora could feel his piercing gaze upon her even as she turned to Little Cora. It was terribly distracting, but somehow she soldiered on.

With a sad smile, Cora addressed the girl in a tone that brimmed with compassion, "There is something very important that you need to know, sweetheart. As you can see, I am not your mother. I had no intention of misleading you earlier, but I wanted to show you that I was sent by your mother to help you..."