The skies are black with lead-filled rain
a morbid painting on display
a morbid painting on display
The immediacy of Flora’s rejection of her apologies makes Hotaru’s stomach twist itself into painful knots of surprise, sharp relief, and bitterness that makes her molars ache with vein-deep rottenness that surprises her the same way biting into a cold treat with a cavity might. It makes parting easier in her distraction. She is immortal - why can she not spend it holding her baby forever? Why must her world widen any further or include anyone else, if she has the power to keep it at bay with a single hand?
It’s a dark thought reminiscent of houseboats and sickness in her veins. Flora’s steadying hands at her waist take her away from that vast, empty ocean and keep her feet rooted in the present. Sunlit and alive. Gods, alive. Has she even processed that she hadn’t been?
“You’re the first to think that, so the jury is still out,” she jokes weakly, that bitterness aching in her teeth as they form a smile. While Flora works to gather herself, Hotaru silently smooths the edges, not drawing attention to it. A practiced thief sneaking your wallet out of your pocket as the compliment your coat and touch your wrist. Instead her hand cups Flora’s cheek and then tucks errant hair back behind her ear, then disguises a stroke of her head into the taming of flyaways. There is no shame in Flora’s distress, but if she wants to control it then Hotaru will pick up the reins and place them back into her palm.
“Frey isn’t known for being straightforward,” she acknowledges dryly. “Sunjata said he asked, that he looked, but if the question isn’t direct well…Frey operates on what you desire, not explanations.” It’s why she had been so confused by Sunjata’s whip-sharp insulted reaction when she’d asked, suddenly doubtful of her herald, if he’d asked the same. Shouldn’t another demigod have known? Though, what does she know? She couldn’t have anticipated Sunjata’s reaction, or Frey’s decisions. She’s scarcely had time to breathe since waking up in that pod.
Hotaru’s expression shutters and her hands fall to Flora’s waist until they are holding each other in identical poses, warped mirrors of gold and grief. “He broke off the engagement,” she shares abruptly, staring at one of Flora’s faint freckles across her sunkissed collarbone. “His heart that he gave me was withered when he asked for it back. And he told me to do what I wanted with the house. Didn’t respond to whether I could write him, or try to fix it…” Hotaru swallows hard, and as Flora’s tears slow her own bite with renewed vigor at her lash line. She bites into her lower lip. How can she tell her daughter this without reversing their roles inappropriately? But she has only Noah and Deimos to lean on otherwise, and they just wouldn’t understand. And Ronin would never let her near Remi again, not for comfort. This exact scenario had led to the twins in the first place long ago.
Hotaru tastes blood and licks it away from her lip where she has bitten too deep, eyes framed by deep bruises as she lifts them to Flora’s. Wanting so badly to break but held together by guilty restraint. “I came to you regardless, don’t mistake that darling. But…I’m hoping you’ll accept me as a new citizen, too.” She has nowhere else to go. At least here, she will be close to her children while she tries to pick up the pieces yet again.
It’s a dark thought reminiscent of houseboats and sickness in her veins. Flora’s steadying hands at her waist take her away from that vast, empty ocean and keep her feet rooted in the present. Sunlit and alive. Gods, alive. Has she even processed that she hadn’t been?
“You’re the first to think that, so the jury is still out,” she jokes weakly, that bitterness aching in her teeth as they form a smile. While Flora works to gather herself, Hotaru silently smooths the edges, not drawing attention to it. A practiced thief sneaking your wallet out of your pocket as the compliment your coat and touch your wrist. Instead her hand cups Flora’s cheek and then tucks errant hair back behind her ear, then disguises a stroke of her head into the taming of flyaways. There is no shame in Flora’s distress, but if she wants to control it then Hotaru will pick up the reins and place them back into her palm.
“Frey isn’t known for being straightforward,” she acknowledges dryly. “Sunjata said he asked, that he looked, but if the question isn’t direct well…Frey operates on what you desire, not explanations.” It’s why she had been so confused by Sunjata’s whip-sharp insulted reaction when she’d asked, suddenly doubtful of her herald, if he’d asked the same. Shouldn’t another demigod have known? Though, what does she know? She couldn’t have anticipated Sunjata’s reaction, or Frey’s decisions. She’s scarcely had time to breathe since waking up in that pod.
Hotaru’s expression shutters and her hands fall to Flora’s waist until they are holding each other in identical poses, warped mirrors of gold and grief. “He broke off the engagement,” she shares abruptly, staring at one of Flora’s faint freckles across her sunkissed collarbone. “His heart that he gave me was withered when he asked for it back. And he told me to do what I wanted with the house. Didn’t respond to whether I could write him, or try to fix it…” Hotaru swallows hard, and as Flora’s tears slow her own bite with renewed vigor at her lash line. She bites into her lower lip. How can she tell her daughter this without reversing their roles inappropriately? But she has only Noah and Deimos to lean on otherwise, and they just wouldn’t understand. And Ronin would never let her near Remi again, not for comfort. This exact scenario had led to the twins in the first place long ago.
Hotaru tastes blood and licks it away from her lip where she has bitten too deep, eyes framed by deep bruises as she lifts them to Flora’s. Wanting so badly to break but held together by guilty restraint. “I came to you regardless, don’t mistake that darling. But…I’m hoping you’ll accept me as a new citizen, too.” She has nowhere else to go. At least here, she will be close to her children while she tries to pick up the pieces yet again.
This is the night that young love died
Buried at each others sides
Buried at each others sides
