HOTARU
She's in a long black coat tonight
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
It is a selfish thing, to coil herself around him in the guise of the brand of comfort he seeks while she leeches her own from him in the quiet and the dark. The blackness ebbs and flows, leaving her aware and incoherent in alternating waves. Sometimes herself - whatever that was - sometimes…less. She tries, for him. She always tries, because she loves him, and she would do anything to relieve this burden she can see building around his shoulders.
It’s not enough. No matter how hard she tries, it’s not enough. Whatever he saw in her, she fears it no longer exists, and how could he love her or look up to her when she is not her anymore?
The news that Cordelia ran away has golden brows rising slowly, and then narrowing abruptly. Cousins, yes? The two were related somehow, she knows it. And the woman - who had snubbed Ru so often for seemingly no reason than offense at not being welcomed with open arms - had abandoned Tal? “Ran?” she asks, voice deceptively silken, a vague interest or perhaps a feigned confusion to garner more information.
The facade falters immediately after.
Her arms loosen until only the leather beneath her hooked fingertips keep her arms hanging limp in broken cradle around Talyson’s body. He is older than her Enzo, but in many ways his youth is an echo. A different kind of brazen, but still a distorted mirror that has her draconic urges insisting she hide him away in the safety of her nest. She cannot tell him, cannot break his innocence.
She could lie. Oh, she knows she could. The words are right there. Lying is as easy to Hotaru as breathing, regardless of her recent honesty in her later years. She could convince him it was a slip of the tongue, could assure him she meant the Shields. There is no doubt in her mind she could fix this. Here, again, the needle quivers between two pathways. The easy one, and the hard one - the one that forces her to bare herself in ways she isn’t ready for. That Talyson may not be ready for, unused to bearing the weight of another’s grief the way his older companions are.
But he will know in time. These things never lie secret for long.
“My son…he was killed in Torchline. His sister teleported him here in the middle of our fight with the dragons.”
It is clinical, but quiet. No need for further explanation; she’d regaled him with plenty of stories and humorous letters from the twins in the past. And, foolishly, she hopes that if she does not expand any further, the hurt won’t touch her here in this small bubble of comfort she has found.
It’s not enough. No matter how hard she tries, it’s not enough. Whatever he saw in her, she fears it no longer exists, and how could he love her or look up to her when she is not her anymore?
The news that Cordelia ran away has golden brows rising slowly, and then narrowing abruptly. Cousins, yes? The two were related somehow, she knows it. And the woman - who had snubbed Ru so often for seemingly no reason than offense at not being welcomed with open arms - had abandoned Tal? “Ran?” she asks, voice deceptively silken, a vague interest or perhaps a feigned confusion to garner more information.
The facade falters immediately after.
Her arms loosen until only the leather beneath her hooked fingertips keep her arms hanging limp in broken cradle around Talyson’s body. He is older than her Enzo, but in many ways his youth is an echo. A different kind of brazen, but still a distorted mirror that has her draconic urges insisting she hide him away in the safety of her nest. She cannot tell him, cannot break his innocence.
She could lie. Oh, she knows she could. The words are right there. Lying is as easy to Hotaru as breathing, regardless of her recent honesty in her later years. She could convince him it was a slip of the tongue, could assure him she meant the Shields. There is no doubt in her mind she could fix this. Here, again, the needle quivers between two pathways. The easy one, and the hard one - the one that forces her to bare herself in ways she isn’t ready for. That Talyson may not be ready for, unused to bearing the weight of another’s grief the way his older companions are.
But he will know in time. These things never lie secret for long.
“My son…he was killed in Torchline. His sister teleported him here in the middle of our fight with the dragons.”
It is clinical, but quiet. No need for further explanation; she’d regaled him with plenty of stories and humorous letters from the twins in the past. And, foolishly, she hopes that if she does not expand any further, the hurt won’t touch her here in this small bubble of comfort she has found.
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
