"There there, little one."
It isn't the Voice that appears to Sam, but another mother entirely. From the shadows of the forest steps a woman Sam has not seen in quite some time, yet knows more intimately than any other: his mother, the Wordsworth matriarch, electric light crackling in her warm blue eyes. It's a version of her that never existed, inviting and kind and loving.
It is everything Sam ever wanted to see in his mother's face.
Towards her son the woman steps, until her hand presses to his hair. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into her lap. "Hush now, Samuel, my dear sweet boy. Mummy's here, and everything is going to be okay."
It isn't the Voice that appears to Sam, but another mother entirely. From the shadows of the forest steps a woman Sam has not seen in quite some time, yet knows more intimately than any other: his mother, the Wordsworth matriarch, electric light crackling in her warm blue eyes. It's a version of her that never existed, inviting and kind and loving.
It is everything Sam ever wanted to see in his mother's face.
Towards her son the woman steps, until her hand presses to his hair. She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into her lap. "Hush now, Samuel, my dear sweet boy. Mummy's here, and everything is going to be okay."
