It began before the whispers of children and before a wine glass would smash an end to everything.
It began before her footsteps led a trail through new snow, ending in a pool of emptiness and warmed earth where she had lain.
It began with a train journey from New York City.
"Remind me what we are doing here?" she had asked.
Grand Central Station: late afternoon. The rush and echo of commuters against the marble walls. Camera flashes and chandelier light, the crackle of a tannoy and the steadiness of his reply:
"running towards who we really are."
"running away." she says in her Mother's voice. He shrugs.
"if that's what you want to call it, but i don't believe that's true."
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