“A little.” They admit with a sheepish smile, a shake of their head as if their curls might block the amusement that begins to blossom across their face. It’s gone in an instant with the seriousness of the conversation, however, their focus going entirely on their father, head bobbing up and down as they commit it to memory.
Be good. Be good.
And with that seriousness over with, the prospect of seeing the Voice has them smiling wide again. “Okay.” They chime, an easy agreement to make for now, at least until they were in the position of sitting still and trying to remain as such. They’re thankful when the subject changes to flowers, however, picking a red crimson rose just the same as the petals they’d just crushed.
Bastien places it behind their ear, and they beam up at their father, eyes wide, crinkling a bit on the edges. “Red!” They chime, a brilliant grin spreading across their face with it, their little hand lifting to touch the velvet edge of the rose bud.
Be good. Be good.
And with that seriousness over with, the prospect of seeing the Voice has them smiling wide again. “Okay.” They chime, an easy agreement to make for now, at least until they were in the position of sitting still and trying to remain as such. They’re thankful when the subject changes to flowers, however, picking a red crimson rose just the same as the petals they’d just crushed.
Bastien places it behind their ear, and they beam up at their father, eyes wide, crinkling a bit on the edges. “Red!” They chime, a brilliant grin spreading across their face with it, their little hand lifting to touch the velvet edge of the rose bud.
progress, not perfection
Azrael
