HOTARU
She's in a long black coat tonight
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
The irony is that this too is love. This silencing of her heart as she takes up the threads once so naturally woven between her fingers and begins to pluck. Strong lies are built by stones of sincerity. To pierce her heart now will ensure its preservation in the days to come. Her hand doesn't waver as she guides that dagger through her own ribs.
"My foolish attempts hang longer and heavier on my neck than yours. Even to you," she whispers, recalling early days of similar desires that had led to this exact punishment of distance that awaits her now. Remi's use of her nickname tells her they aren't strangers, but Hotaru will never forget that he was also once her judge and jury. Ironic then, that she cares for him enough even now to want to spare him the burden of being her executioner. To insist on the Family's safety now would do exactly that, and even before his inevitable realization of wrongness on that matter she likes to think - perhaps as a cold comfort, or an insistence to herself of worth that doesn't exist - that he would be burdened all the same by doing so with his own hand.
In truth, she knows he would regret out of the goodness of his own heart. Not out of any reverence for her.
So she gives a wan smile at his hollow words of comfort. To distract him with this notion of otherness is to ensure the protection of weightier insecurities. What is the worth of a feminine touch and permissive encouragement when weighed against safeguards against death or assured victory in battle? Hotaru fears Flora inherited it from her, that easy choice between love and power. And why compromise when two parents can offer both? Why need three at all?
Still, Flora's conscious state will distract him further and allow Ru to slip away gracefully. This will merely be one more twist of the knife before she is free. Must you always sound so noble when you ask me to bleed for you, Remi? But there is no open bond for the words to find purchase in. Instead what he hears is what she allows him to hear; curling back toward Flora, Ru closes her eyes for a moment to commit her daughter's scent and heartbeat to memory. Then she whispers in her ear, magic unfurling like a blooming flower. "Wake up, petal."
"My foolish attempts hang longer and heavier on my neck than yours. Even to you," she whispers, recalling early days of similar desires that had led to this exact punishment of distance that awaits her now. Remi's use of her nickname tells her they aren't strangers, but Hotaru will never forget that he was also once her judge and jury. Ironic then, that she cares for him enough even now to want to spare him the burden of being her executioner. To insist on the Family's safety now would do exactly that, and even before his inevitable realization of wrongness on that matter she likes to think - perhaps as a cold comfort, or an insistence to herself of worth that doesn't exist - that he would be burdened all the same by doing so with his own hand.
In truth, she knows he would regret out of the goodness of his own heart. Not out of any reverence for her.
So she gives a wan smile at his hollow words of comfort. To distract him with this notion of otherness is to ensure the protection of weightier insecurities. What is the worth of a feminine touch and permissive encouragement when weighed against safeguards against death or assured victory in battle? Hotaru fears Flora inherited it from her, that easy choice between love and power. And why compromise when two parents can offer both? Why need three at all?
Still, Flora's conscious state will distract him further and allow Ru to slip away gracefully. This will merely be one more twist of the knife before she is free. Must you always sound so noble when you ask me to bleed for you, Remi? But there is no open bond for the words to find purchase in. Instead what he hears is what she allows him to hear; curling back toward Flora, Ru closes her eyes for a moment to commit her daughter's scent and heartbeat to memory. Then she whispers in her ear, magic unfurling like a blooming flower. "Wake up, petal."
singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
