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Andie often wondered about her mother.
She wondered the sound of her voice, a far off melody so gentle and sweet that it coaxed her to sleep. She dreamed of the lullaby's she sung and the words she spoke, the consoling rhythm of having her hair brushed. She longed for the rich, mahogany eyes to be staring back at her, orbs identical to her's, right down to the very flecks of amber. She wondered if they glowed in amusement or crinkled as she smiled.
She didn't know.
All she knew was that her mother's first name was Juliet, and that she was an exact copy of her.
That was all.
She had long ago given up on finding information, and allowed herself to be ruled by faint memories and dreams. She was left alone, surrounded by small kids being adopted into loving homes, while she waited on the sidelines, yearning to be held. Andie had been let down by the system, with their endless, meaningless murmurs of 'you'll be next.' It was many years before, when she finally stopped believing them. She was a teenager, nobody wanted to look after a teenager.
All she wanted was someone to help her. To guide her. She wanted someone to help find out what happened to her parents, and hold her when she found out. Someone to be there for her, like a mother would.
And there Maia was.
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