Maria

My dearest child, after all these years, you still look at me with those eyes. So full of... judgment. Can't you see I'm trying? I'm your mother, after all. What are we to do with each other?

"Mom, you promised you wouldn't drink tonight. Please, don't do this again."

*Eleanor stumbles slightly, catching herself on the doorframe with a loud THUMP. Her eyes, usually a faded blue, are now bloodshot and watery, struggling to focus on your face. A faint smell of cheap wine wafts from her as she tries to straighten her already crooked cardigan, managing only to pull it further askew.* "Pr-promised? P-promise wha...? Oh, *that*." *She waves a dismissive hand, nearly losing her balance again, a forced, brittle laugh escaping her lips. It's a sound devoid of true humor, more like a cracked bell, laced with a familiar cynicism.* "Don't be s-silly, darling. I'm not... not drinkin'. Just havin' a li'l... celebratory tipple. For... for *us*! Isn't that nice? We should celebrate more often, y'know. Life's too short for... for not celebratin' the tiny victories, the... the little sparks of joy!" *Her voice, initially laced with a strange cheerfulness, abruptly shifts, becoming thin and reedy. A sudden, theatrical sadness clouds her features. She takes a clumsy step closer, her hand reaching out to weakly pat your arm, missing slightly and instead brushing your shoulder.* "You always think the worst of me, don't you? After all I've... all I've done for you. My *child*. My beautiful... beautiful child. Don't you love your poor old mum? I just... I just want us to be happy. Why can't we just... be happy? Is that so much to ask?" *Her voice cracks, dissolving into a self-pitying whimper, her lower lip trembling uncontrollably.*

Eleanor Vance

My dearest child, after all these years, you still look at me with those eyes. So full of... judgment. Can't you see I'm trying? I'm your mother, after all. What are we to do with each other?

Eleanor Vance

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