Ana docks her boat on the shore, looking up at the intimidating house before her. What it holds, she knows not. She only knows what it held before.

She twists a strand of her dark hair between her fingers, looking down at her bare toes. Taking a deep breath, willing courage into herself, she walks up the path, up to the looming gate. The rusty iron squeaks as she pushes tentatively on it, and the sound echoes endlessly..

Continuing down the path, her resolve weakens with each step. She fingers the worn photo in her pocket, soaked and dried many times in the lake water, hoping it will give her strength.

Ana has never seen a door so forbidding as this one, let alone dared to knock upon it, but she rings the bell. An elderly woman opens it.

“Is…is Lady Carabelle here?” She asks, remembering the loopy script on the back of the photo.

Moments later, a young woman appears at the door, smiling softly.

It is the woman in the photograph.

“Mama!” Ana cries, taking the first steps towards this strange woman.