HOTARU
When the wall is clean, Bastien calls to her last, and she goes to him. Folds her legs beneath her to sit before him, watching the pinching and folding of his fingers as he demonstrates what he's looking to make. She dries her hands as she watches him make the first, committing the folds to memory. It is not so hard, not when she is used to memorizing such minute details when making new garments or glass creations. He turns to her for her opinion, and she smiles softly. "I think it's wonderful. Private, but meaningful." Something that perhaps would have helped her, if she had been granted the time to grieve her own children before having her life ripped away in one fell swoop.
The parchment he hands her is thick, sturdy. It resists the more intricate folds, but a press of a nail is enough to force it into submission. Her first is not the most beautiful, a little misshapen, but Hotaru is nothing if not a perfectionist. Seeking to improve upon each little vessel, she makes as many as she can, until the parchment runs out and she's left with a collection of stars ready to be filled with the names of those lost.
The parchment he hands her is thick, sturdy. It resists the more intricate folds, but a press of a nail is enough to force it into submission. Her first is not the most beautiful, a little misshapen, but Hotaru is nothing if not a perfectionist. Seeking to improve upon each little vessel, she makes as many as she can, until the parchment runs out and she's left with a collection of stars ready to be filled with the names of those lost.
she would burn down your kingdoms
herself with it
if it meant your ruin
