The day I was born, was a freezing cold winter one. It is said that there has never been a colder day since then, at least that's what I hear from the townspeople as they pass by. I don't know what incredible pains my mother had to go through to bring me into this world. There's no way that I could ever know, that I could ever imagine. I didn't know her, couldn't know her.. She died that day, passing onto the other world, to live amongst the Tenshi, or at least that was what my father told me every time I was brave enough to ask him, and when he was in a good enough mood to answer my repetitive question time and time again.

A song, a loud shrill cry echoed through those halls, on the moment I was born. I believe it was a selfish want from me, to have attention, to have my presence known, that was my beginning. I can't change or rewrite history, I have to accept it as it is.

Since then there are no images, no paintings or drawings, nothing that would even carry a faint memory of her, or the life she lived here. I have no idea of what she looked like or even what she may have sounded like, no clue on what she was like, what her dislikes & likes were, what her dislikes were, etc. The maids had been all replaced after her death, and the hired hands that remained, spoke nothing of her, not even when I persistently asked over and over again.

It was as if she had never existed in these halls. Hushed by my father I believe, he probably believed that the fewer items that would remind him of her, the easier it would be on him. A choice that I otherwise disagreed about, though I had little sway in the matter. It filled me with even more curiosity, more desire to know her, which sparked my never-ending questions that seemed to plague him through the years.

From what I had heard from the townspeople, at least the ones who would speak to me, the ones who may have caught a glance of her, I was identical to her.

A burden, that was probably what I was to father. Who could live with an almost identical living copy of a loved one who was deceased? To see that face day after day, knowing it's not the person you love the most but, someone else. I believed that it would drive a less than strong enough person perhaps mad.

Nevertheless, I loved my father very much. He was all I had, all that I knew. There was no one else I could turn to. I was all he had left of his love. I could tell I reminded him of her every time he looked at me. I could see the gentleness tinged with sadness that lurked behind his eyes, and how it seemed to hurt me inside knowing that I was the one doing that to him.

This was when I had just turned eighteen. That tender time when everything seems new as you move from a child to an adult in the short span of twelve months. When everything seems to change too quickly for you to comprehend everything. For you to fully understand everything that is going on, that your future is going to be completely different from what you thought it'd be.