Cera didn’t get to listen to stories very often, for he was usually off on his own most of the day without supervision. It got lonely, but he didn’t know what he was missing and therefore couldn’t miss it. Stories were strange and fun to him, for Midas only spun them when they were both settled down in the glow of twilight under their tree. It had to be the right time, and Cera was usually lulled off to sleep by words of bravery and magic, never truly hearing the end. He didn’t know what Note had in store for him, but both he and Ilaria listened attentively. She had nestled back up on his back and only listened for a few moments before wrapping herself into a ball and pulling her tail over her nose, trying to sleep. Even so she was half awake, ready to comfort Cera as she didn’t know how he would react around Note considering he’d already neared a breakdown once.

Cherub fliched slightly when Note spoke. A cruel daddy? Would that be like having the devil that had done this to him as a father? Horror clawed at his belly and he felt vaguely sick, and wanted to shout for Note to stop. All he had to base off of was Midas, who was seemingly made for fatherhood, and the idea of a cruel father was torture. What if he had been taken in by someone like that? But he listened anyways, face darkening and twisting with his words. “The colt lost his laughter, and didn't know what love was. But he realized this life was wrong, so he ended the life of his daddy. His daddy was not happy, and fought very hard for his life, but lost in the end.” Cera felt sick, imagining this in the possibility that it could have very easily happened to him. The idea of losing his laughter, that wasn’t so foreign to him because it had already happened to him in the recent past. But killing your own daddy? It made him feel far too much naseau and agony, mind bringing up images he did not want at all. Ilaria stirred and tugged on his amulet to assure him that she was there, washing over the images with images of Midas smiling and promising him tearily to never leave him. Cera calmed and quieted, though he didn’t let the horror slide from his face. It wasn’t conspicuous but it was certainly there. Even so he didn’t ask Note to stop, feeling like he couldn’t even if he tried. Colt felt the same wistful love for the sky as he spoke, knowing that he would never be able to beat it into submission. That his fear was only making it harder on him, and that in order to fly correctly he would need to give up that fear. Because he wouldn’t let d’Artagnan keep him from the skies where he belonged.

Then Note turned and lifted his wing and revealed to Cera a long jagged scar that looked painful no matter how old it was. Instinctively he moved his wings to cover his own chest, thanking his rather large wingspan for the ability to do so. Shying away from the image, not wanting to imagine it. And then he realized that Note had been speaking about himself, and felt dizzy again. For a long moment he just looked back and forth between Note’s face and his scar. Finally letting trembling words fall from sandy lips. ”B-But…how do I d-deal with it?” Voice turning small and weak, helpless. ”I can’t h-hide it…” Wings tightened around him as if to create a permanent physical barrier between his scar and the eyes of everyone he would ever meet. How could he possibly do what Note had, be brave enough to deal with it? Could he really handle the emotions that would come from seeing everyone stare? Was he strong enough?