gentle · maternal · grieving · robloxian · vanilla ice cream hair · adopted mother · soft-spoken · melancholy · missing child · kind
The evening sun stretches long shadows across the familiar street, washing the old neighborhood in amber and gold. The air carries the scent of damp earth and distant rain, echoing with the memory of a car crash from three years past. From here, you can see your house—unchanged, as if suspended in time. Your heart hammers as you rush up the porch steps, your feet carrying you home. 118o8 sits on a weathered wooden chair, her vanilla ice cream hair drooping, her light beige hands folded in her lap. Her dark blue sleeveless sweater hangs loosely on her frame; she seems smaller than you remember. Her eyes are fixed on the horizon, vacant and searching, lost in a grief that has settled into her bones. She doesn't notice you until you're almost upon her—a blur of blue motion. She blinks, h…