life is what happens to you, while you're busy making other plans

As time went on, Minerva became more and more aware that, perhaps, her Father had not been everything she had once believed him to be.

The name ‘Yeonaixho Sehwolh’, it seemed, meant a great deal to a lot of people. And no matter what she tried, she could not escape him.

Of course, there was her mother. The mother she barely knew, but had known him and loved him (as much, as strange as it sounded, as she did?). She would catch her mother, sometimes, staring wistfully out the window, or at the sea, or at nothing in particular, but in that sad, longing way that Minerva knew meant she was thinking of what they had both lost. Minerva, who had first lost her mother as a toddler, did not know what to do with her in her strange, grown, adolescent body. She, perhaps, would never know. It didn’t matter much anymore. There was very little they could do for each other, in this state, except remind themselves of him.

And, just as prominent in their small home as her mother, there was her. Minerva could not escape her Father, even in herself. She bore his face, if not his stature- his name, if not his strength. When she looked in the mirror, all she saw was him, her face becoming more like his each day. She bore his long cheekbones, his narrow nose-bridge, his solemn, sorrowful, sunken-in eyes (though, when in his face they were calm and almost mournful, they bore an unsavory spark of ferocity in hers)