please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere
“I will! Thank you.” Despite not knowing Seren well (or, at all), there would likely be fewer places more safe than with the child of a goddess and a demigod, who was herself a demigod.
“Scar, or no scar?” Tobi asks as the final few centimetres of skin are tugged back together. There is a bright pink line that shows where Seren’s dragon’s claws had inadvertently sliced through her skin. “Some like them, some don’t.” She adds with an easy shrug.
Frowning, these not being the sorts of questions that Tobi was normally tasked with answering, the doctor straightens slightly and rests one of her hands on her belly. “Well...I think it’s probably tempting to think of them like our parents and us like their children...I wonder if it is like that at all.” She begins, a touch hesitantly, but with all the earnestness she has to offer. “Imagine maybe...if you had planted a garden and selected each and every flower and plant. Imagine then if weeds began to grow in your garden. Maybe you let them stay for a little while to see what they might do, but eventually they begin choking out the other plants and flowers that you intentionally designed and have been nurturing. And so you pull up the weeds. Maybe in another garden the weeds would be allowed to stay, but not in yours, because that isn’t the way you want it.” And so the weeds—the Voice and the ascended—are plucked and culled.
“Scar, or no scar?” Tobi asks as the final few centimetres of skin are tugged back together. There is a bright pink line that shows where Seren’s dragon’s claws had inadvertently sliced through her skin. “Some like them, some don’t.” She adds with an easy shrug.
Frowning, these not being the sorts of questions that Tobi was normally tasked with answering, the doctor straightens slightly and rests one of her hands on her belly. “Well...I think it’s probably tempting to think of them like our parents and us like their children...I wonder if it is like that at all.” She begins, a touch hesitantly, but with all the earnestness she has to offer. “Imagine maybe...if you had planted a garden and selected each and every flower and plant. Imagine then if weeds began to grow in your garden. Maybe you let them stay for a little while to see what they might do, but eventually they begin choking out the other plants and flowers that you intentionally designed and have been nurturing. And so you pull up the weeds. Maybe in another garden the weeds would be allowed to stay, but not in yours, because that isn’t the way you want it.” And so the weeds—the Voice and the ascended—are plucked and culled.
October
