[Shadowheart doesn't know the term 'polaroid photograph,' but that's what she goes into the bedroom to get, once again depositing the cat on the floor before entering the other room and fetching an envelope from a drawer in the bedside table. She pulls out one specific picture, and takes it out to the kitchen to show it to John.]

Some time ago, Aurora had us play one of her little games: we were given pictures of moments in our past, and had to discuss them with others. Not something I cared to participate in, but I kept the pictures.

[She sets the picture on the kitchen counter, so John can see it. It depicts a rustic kitchen scene – all copper pots and wooden spoons and bread set over an open fire to bake, soft sunlight streaming in from a wide window – and a young human woman with dark hair, her sleeves rolled up and a rolling pin in her hand. Next to her is an elven man, black hair and the same pale green eyes as Shadowheart, balancing a very young girl, with black hair and green eyes and delicately pointed ears, all of about three years old, on his hip. The little girl is reaching up to tug on his hair. Both the adults are laughing.]

I don't remember my childhood, or my mother. I barely remember my father. [She has exactly one memory of him, and it isn't a good one.] This is all I have of them.