maybe who we were then is shattered, but who we are in the end is what matters
“You were there,” she refutes with strength she can scarcely afford to waste, and her expression is open and vulnerable, almost girlishly youthful and lost. The witch’s acceptance has a tremulous smile breaking on the Valkyrie’s face, and she sinks back into the pillows, her drive extinguished. Limp and malleable in whichever way Vai needs her to be for the cleanup and the afterbirth.
From her bedside the sound of Remi’s sob turns her head, and Hotaru can’t bear to have him so far, but her arms refuse to uncurl from where they cradle her babies to her skin. Loyal to them first and foremost, as time would prove she will always be.
Pale irises shutter behind tired lids as cold sinks across her forehead and into the delicate nerves of her face. Remi’s voice accompanies her into the darkness, making up for the time between slow blinks where Hotaru cannot see his face. The soft timbre of it envelops her, praise filling empty spaces she didn’t know she had. “And what do you think of it now?” Scarcely a whisper, eyes slitting open a sliver to watch how gently he touches their children.
But there is one more thing she must do before she rests. A ceremonial part of this moment that Hotaru refuses to be denied, even by her own body. “Will you help me name them?” Some time ago he had assured her that unlike previous partners, he would not control or demand anything of their titles, but Hotaru knows now that she wants this to be a joint effort. “Something in your mother tongue. And I can pick the ones I like the most?” And they will carry her own surname, and titles their mother preferred. A piece of both their parents.
From her bedside the sound of Remi’s sob turns her head, and Hotaru can’t bear to have him so far, but her arms refuse to uncurl from where they cradle her babies to her skin. Loyal to them first and foremost, as time would prove she will always be.
Pale irises shutter behind tired lids as cold sinks across her forehead and into the delicate nerves of her face. Remi’s voice accompanies her into the darkness, making up for the time between slow blinks where Hotaru cannot see his face. The soft timbre of it envelops her, praise filling empty spaces she didn’t know she had. “And what do you think of it now?” Scarcely a whisper, eyes slitting open a sliver to watch how gently he touches their children.
But there is one more thing she must do before she rests. A ceremonial part of this moment that Hotaru refuses to be denied, even by her own body. “Will you help me name them?” Some time ago he had assured her that unlike previous partners, he would not control or demand anything of their titles, but Hotaru knows now that she wants this to be a joint effort. “Something in your mother tongue. And I can pick the ones I like the most?” And they will carry her own surname, and titles their mother preferred. A piece of both their parents.
