Prelude: Acheron

She closes her eyes and feels the pain. It's not physical but it is in her bones. It's the ache of choices made in a life that's so old while still young.

Each choice followed the last. How can so many good decisions add up to something so ragged?

It started with a glimmer. Something bright white and gossamer. There was a boy. Of course. She didn't care for him. Of course. But he wore her down.

There was a child. Then there wasn't. She still remembers the rawness of that.

Then there was another child. That child is her essence now.

How much longing can you distill into one small life?