Freya had always admired her mother's beauty.
Like Freya, she had russet auburn hair and deep, emerald eyes. But,
unlike the tanned, freckled, and lanky young adult, her mother was
porcelain, statuesque, and, in Freya's eyes, perfect. She was an
embodiment of elegance and beauty.
That is, she had been.
Freya looked over at her mother. The thinning hair and sunken cheeks
gave away her illness as much as the hazy unfocused quality of her
eyes. The shaman cautioned Freya that her mother would need a
full-time caretaker soon. Freya began to consider finding better
paying work outside Snowden.
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