Hotaru
The hand that covers hers is warm, and Hotaru searches the midwife’s face desperately as she begins to speak. Her own crumples further with each word, fingers loosening as they lose all strength and motivation to cling. There are still no tears, only a shadowed acceptance that looks more like defeat.
“Blues? That can’t be right. I want to hurt my babies. How can that be normal?” She pulls her hands back to fist them in her hair, staring down between her knees. It takes a monumental effort to not pull and rip and tear, to brush her hair backwards and remove her hands instead. It’s not that she doesn’t believe Phoebe, but the wording makes her doubt herself, the intensity of what she’s feeling. “How can I fix it? Remi won’t let me see them if I feel this way. If it’s normal there has to be treatment right? Like healing magic?” Hotaru doesn’t know what magic can and cannot achieve, especially the healing arts. For as pathetic as she looks now, Hotaru has a body and soul built for war and ruination, not mending.
“Blues? That can’t be right. I want to hurt my babies. How can that be normal?” She pulls her hands back to fist them in her hair, staring down between her knees. It takes a monumental effort to not pull and rip and tear, to brush her hair backwards and remove her hands instead. It’s not that she doesn’t believe Phoebe, but the wording makes her doubt herself, the intensity of what she’s feeling. “How can I fix it? Remi won’t let me see them if I feel this way. If it’s normal there has to be treatment right? Like healing magic?” Hotaru doesn’t know what magic can and cannot achieve, especially the healing arts. For as pathetic as she looks now, Hotaru has a body and soul built for war and ruination, not mending.
I'm ready to hope, swing me out of the low
Wide awake in the glow, I can't do it alone
Wide awake in the glow, I can't do it alone
