Theea
a lost son is called a prodigal
Melita grins—wide and sharp and just a little unhinged—and something in me instantly warms to it. It’s the kind of grin I’ve seen on my mom when she’s about to do something wildly irresponsible and have the time of her life doing it. That slightly feral, gods-help-whoever’s-standing-in-the-way kind of smile.I like her.
And then she drops that she’s Ludo’s demigod, just like that, like it’s no big deal. My smile twitches wider before I can stop it.
“Okay, that’s actually kind of incredible.” I gesture vaguely, as if to encompass her whole vibe. “You talk about it like it’s not some terrifying trickster, but just… a chaotic friend who shows up with a plan and a lit match.”
I mean it as a compliment. And the way she talks about Ludo makes me want to meet it a little more than I’m afraid to. A herald like that must make life interesting, at the very least.
Then she asks who I go to, and my smile softens. Not shy, just… a little further inward.
“Mort, mostly.” I shrug a shoulder, a little embarrassed by how automatic that answer is. “I guess I talk to him like he’s a tether. Like… if I keep that connection strong, maybe I stay closer to my dad.”
I glance back at the statue, then down at the offering I left. The little dragon, lopsided and small. My voice is gentler when I ask the next bit.
“Does Ludo ever… take messages?” A pause. “Or bring messages back?”
I don’t expect a yes. I just want to know if anyone ever gets that lucky.
a lost daughter is just called lost
