Her voice is a fearless proclamation of protection
She lives what's within her out loud
She lives what's within her out loud
Something tense and impatient lingers at the edge of his side of the bond, and though Hotaru would rather a more private environment for whatever is to come, it seems time is of the essence. She shifts quick and smooth, golden hair and skin easily melting into tawny fur; a shift as close to his as she can match.
When his memories come they are more emotion than painted pictures, as the bond is wont to do, but in some ways that is harder for her to lay across her own shoulders. It’s a pain too familiar, a story she’s written in her own hand, and the lines between his fury and fear and her own grow blurry in an instant. The fur along her spine bristles immediately. It’s a struggle not to let her own emotions and memories bleed over - to sweep them up in a self-perpetuating spiral - and his words are gummy in the way they stick and pop in her ears half-senselessly.
There is no getting away, she mutters, caught in the dark, pessimistic swirl of his emotions. What did you do that turned her eye? Would she find reason to target him again? What level of insult - according to her own judgment - would warrant a reminder? One that wouldn’t be so kind as to leave his child alive? Hotaru would know. Flora’s death, no matter how temporary, will never leave her. And Luka - Soleil, too - are they okay? The maternal ache of her heart makes it clear she isn’t asking about physically - and that she isn’t hopeful for the answer, either.
When his memories come they are more emotion than painted pictures, as the bond is wont to do, but in some ways that is harder for her to lay across her own shoulders. It’s a pain too familiar, a story she’s written in her own hand, and the lines between his fury and fear and her own grow blurry in an instant. The fur along her spine bristles immediately. It’s a struggle not to let her own emotions and memories bleed over - to sweep them up in a self-perpetuating spiral - and his words are gummy in the way they stick and pop in her ears half-senselessly.
There is no getting away, she mutters, caught in the dark, pessimistic swirl of his emotions. What did you do that turned her eye? Would she find reason to target him again? What level of insult - according to her own judgment - would warrant a reminder? One that wouldn’t be so kind as to leave his child alive? Hotaru would know. Flora’s death, no matter how temporary, will never leave her. And Luka - Soleil, too - are they okay? The maternal ache of her heart makes it clear she isn’t asking about physically - and that she isn’t hopeful for the answer, either.
