Maeve
Something akin to a laugh pushes past her lips, a barely there sound that hardly counts as more than an exhale of breath, but her lips twitch with it. The thought never occurred to her. What her new title meant for her little star. "Notre petit prince." Maeve murmurs, letting him take the doll as her now free hand drops to her stomach, smoothing over the bump there. Her eyes flick back to him, watching as he begins to speak, growing still once more to listen.
It isn't a bad story. Truly. If anything it fills her with a sense of warmth, but she knows how it ends. They're making a doll for her, after all. She's not here anymore. Dead or alive. It didn't matter because she was gone. "She sounds wonderful. Brave and full of spirit." Maeve reaches over to touch his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before she's drawing back again, hesitant to keep contact for longer than a second. It's easier to pull away than have him push her again. It hurt less if she was the one doing it. "It is worse in some ways... Sometimes I wonder if my mother simply restarted her life out there without me. If she had a whole nother family. Babies that she kept and raised. I'd prefer her dead over that." She admits, dropping her gaze to the top of the table, rubbing at a knick in the wood despite the fact that it won't do anything.
Her cheeks flush prettily at the use of her title and she ducks her head almost shyly, "I'm still not used to people calling me that." Maeve huffs, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, chancing a glance at him from beneath her lashes. "I hope it's a boy... A little prince." She smoothes her hand back over her belly, eyes widening before she blinks rapidly, brows drawing together as an actual smile blooms across her face. "Oh. Say something again. Anything." Maeve says suddenly, reaching for his hand and pressing it against her stomach in the same place hers was a moment ago. When he talks he'll feel the faintest flutter against his palm. A kick.
It isn't a bad story. Truly. If anything it fills her with a sense of warmth, but she knows how it ends. They're making a doll for her, after all. She's not here anymore. Dead or alive. It didn't matter because she was gone. "She sounds wonderful. Brave and full of spirit." Maeve reaches over to touch his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before she's drawing back again, hesitant to keep contact for longer than a second. It's easier to pull away than have him push her again. It hurt less if she was the one doing it. "It is worse in some ways... Sometimes I wonder if my mother simply restarted her life out there without me. If she had a whole nother family. Babies that she kept and raised. I'd prefer her dead over that." She admits, dropping her gaze to the top of the table, rubbing at a knick in the wood despite the fact that it won't do anything.
Her cheeks flush prettily at the use of her title and she ducks her head almost shyly, "I'm still not used to people calling me that." Maeve huffs, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, chancing a glance at him from beneath her lashes. "I hope it's a boy... A little prince." She smoothes her hand back over her belly, eyes widening before she blinks rapidly, brows drawing together as an actual smile blooms across her face. "Oh. Say something again. Anything." Maeve says suddenly, reaching for his hand and pressing it against her stomach in the same place hers was a moment ago. When he talks he'll feel the faintest flutter against his palm. A kick.
I'm undone about to burst at my seams
'Cause I am picturing you beside me
So let me be everything that you need
'Cause I am picturing you beside me
So let me be everything that you need
