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Momma, I don't know what the word anxiety means. But I feel it in my chest, like a raging fire and a weight that tries to collapse my ribcage. I feel pressured and small, like I'm being forced into a smaller and smaller box the longer he stares at me, silent. Momma, you try to tell me to be brave, but I can hear the emptiness in your words. I know what you really mean is to suffer in silence, because you don't want to know what your greed has done to me, not when you see your mistake in my face every day. So I lock my knees and try to be your good little soldier, even if my sword is broken and my shield is battered far beyond the age upon my limbs. His confusion is only a further cause of stress to me, and I want to whimper like a beaten dog beneath his piercing gaze. Wildly I wish that you are here, that I may hide behind your light once more, the position I most naturally fall into.
But when my wish is answered, suddenly I find I do not want you here at all. I had forgotten how bright you are, Momma, how sharp and explosive. All things that make me cower and shy away, a creature of sensitivity and silence. You cut in front of me, shield my view while concealing my frame behind the slightness of your own. Faeanne is beside you, no, beside me now. I don't know what to say to her, but I limp a little closer. She's bright like you, Momma, but I can't help but want her sisterhood. I don't follow you around as she does, does that disappoint you Momma? Do you wish I would stay in your presence, adopt more of your traits?
Everything is loud and it's hurting my ears, and I wish you'd stop being so angry, Momma. I don't think the fellow has done anything wrong. But what do I know? So I keep quiet, keep still; keep living as I always have by these two commands scratched into the very bones of the skeleton that holds me up. And even when you speak, Momma, even when your voice is soft like lily petals and sweet as honeysuckle all I can hear is the word; son. You have told me of my father in bitter snippets, and I have learned to stop asking. But now, to have him standing but lengths away- lengths that to me are so far, so impossible to cross with the pain that stabs through my legs as a reminder of my weakness- I can't think of how I should feel.
Your eyes are soft, telling him that I am no devil to fear, that I am sweet. Sweet like Fae's happy humming, or the scent of clover and sweetgrass growing aside one another. Sweet. And maybe it's not beautiful, but it's something close enough for me. My eyes swim but I don't let them fall. Crying isn't beautiful, isn't strong or brave, and so I don't succumb. It's these rare times when I think you might really love me, Momma.
He speaks my name. It sounds odd, foreign, on his tongue. But it's my name regardless. I lift my eyes shyly through thick fanning lashes of the darkest coal, responding to the name you had given me when I first entered this cruel and unforgiving world. Even if I had the freedom to move as I please, I wouldn't have backed away from the stag you call my father as he moves closer. I can't conceive your anger when you told me stories of him, the few times I dared to ask. He doesn't seem as evil as you portray him to be. In fact, his face is open and delighted, intrigued by...by me of all possible living souls!
And I can't remove my stare, hesitant and desperate as it is, craving the affection he seems to contemplate giving. This time, my knees are shaking for a whole new reason, and I keep them locked up tight for fear I will sink to the ground like a broken puppet and he will leave, disgusted with my inability to be a proper son. His words strike me like a hammer's blow, and I stare at him, unable to conceive what he has just breathed upon my harks like a prayer.
Perfect.
And this time, Momma, I can't help but to cry. And I stumble forward and press my muzzle to the one he offers me, so tiny in comparison as silent diamonds spill onto my lashes, their source of happiness making them shallow and fewer in number; clinging instead of tracking down my cheeks. "D-Dad? Ryuu's dad?" I choke on the words, unsure of myself, scared that he won't want to claim the more intimate title that I hesitantly offer to him in the form of a question. I don't know what to do from here, but I fear to remove my touch, instead inhaling his new scent and drinking in the similar features of darkness that echoed in my own reflection.
@[Aurelia]
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