May your days be long

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Sharon watches her granddaughter, a tottering two-year old, laugh and play. The happy little white blooms plaited in her hair turn their heads to the sun, and her granddaughter smiles her way with that gap-toothed grin. The green frock she wears is dirtied with mud and spilt afternoon tea, but Sharon doesn't mind, and she picks up the child and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Not far off her daughter, Cherice, watches them with bright pale eyes, a gloved hand to her mouth as she hides her own grin. There are wrinkles on her daughter's face, unlike herself who's still frozen in stature, but neither Cherice or herself have ever cared for something so trivial. Sharon is her mother, with a mother's eyes and a mother's tongue, and Cherice will always be hers.

She's beautiful...they both are. I know you're watching over them.

There is so much happiness here, so much love, something a long time ago that she'd almost forgotten.

Oh, but he'd never want that. No. He'd want you to experience all the love this world could give.

Sharon is a Rainsworth woman—like her mother before her, and her mother before her—and she's learnt to take what is given and treasure it forever.

Still, there are some nights in which she likes to reflect, and she sometimes pretends he is still there in the room listening, always listening that one.

"I'm getting old."

Oh, but you're still so beautiful, my dear. He would say.

"I wish..."

My, my. So negative...let me fix that...

And Sharon would dream of stolen kisses behind heavy curtains, of silver hair and broken sighs. In the morning, she would feel her bones creak and the other side of the bed would always be so cold.

For now, she reminds herself, she has her dreams.

And then she would greet the day anew.

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For you. Always, for you...

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I know.

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A/N: review?