DELPHINE
Delphine stared, wide-eyed when the god was nearly nose to nose. It's words, were an echo, it's touch strange. She waited until it was done speaking; done telling her no. Delphine understood that she had upset the god—or at least, that’s how she was taking it.
Quietly, after considering how she should respond, she spoke up: “I’m thankful for my memories—” Perhaps not thankful enough, pleading with a god to bring the children she lost, back to her, when it was her fault they were gone in the first place.
“—but I didn’t mean to give them to you. We… had a misunderstanding, near the end. I was choosing to lose my memories, not my babies.” Which was the truth, but did not make it any easier to acknowledge, that she had to think about what was worth more.
Memories or her children.
It was important, to her, that the god understood. She hadn't meant to give up her babies, not in the end.
Quietly, after considering how she should respond, she spoke up: “I’m thankful for my memories—” Perhaps not thankful enough, pleading with a god to bring the children she lost, back to her, when it was her fault they were gone in the first place.
“—but I didn’t mean to give them to you. We… had a misunderstanding, near the end. I was choosing to lose my memories, not my babies.” Which was the truth, but did not make it any easier to acknowledge, that she had to think about what was worth more.
Memories or her children.
It was important, to her, that the god understood. She hadn't meant to give up her babies, not in the end.
What's that thing they say about a rose by any other name?
Dandelion, dandelion.
