"The river was red, blood running through its rocky depths. The river was of spirit, or hopes lost, of death, of the heart's desire. The river was made of sin, not just liquid, but solid, and strong, flowing and weak. Hopes of evil sorts came from here. Humans are cursed to drink from this river. They always will be; it is the will of the gods. But they bless some with drinking from the other sacred river. This river's depths are filled with diamonds, clear, of no bad intent. This is the river you drunk from, that you suckled from my breast, but you also lapped up the red river, with the evils the heart always desires."
This is the part of the story where the hero gives into temptation, the part where my mother always reads past, never ends with this part, reads it the next day. But today she uttered the tale, letting it loose.
"Hunger is from the white river, hunger for the red. Hunger is from the red river, hunger for the white river. Once, just once, a bet was placed on hunger. A bi