Lynx has never been one made for such sweet moments.
She wasn’t raised to truly enjoy them, wasn’t raised to soften herself and become vulnerable in the embrace of another; instead, she had been taught from an early age that it was wise to harden yourself against the world because it would do nothing to accommodate your weakness. It was a lesson that had only been reinforced her later years, the constant onslaught of thoughts from the world around her teaching her again and again that the world was a cruel place and you needed to be cruel to survive.
But now, with his open, joyful face and the gummy smile of her daughter (her daughter), she finds that the world does not feel so cruel—does not feel so cold. Her dual-colored eyes close for a moment and a rare smile finds her lips as she tips her head back, looking up at the sky as it circles above them.
She can feel Fox’s happiness flood through her and it morphs into her own—his excitement taking root in her and blossoming in her chest. It is not his magic though, she thinks, that causes such an emotion to spread through her. There is nothing manipulative about it (although, to his credit, Fox has never tried to pull the strings of her own emotions); instead, it is just the joyful feeling of taking place in his joy.
They are parents.
Parents.
Part of her softens, lets the magic of the moment seep into her, and she thinks that perhaps it would not be the end of the world to let it. “She is nothing like her mother and for that you should be grateful,” her smile is warm though, the iciness of it thawing as she looks down to her daughter, watching as she stumbles to her feet. For a second, she tilts her head, lips pursing, before she laughs, the sound girlish and warm as she meet Fox’s gaze. “Persea is perfect,” her voice quiets, gaze settling on him.
For a moment she is quiet, watching the warm lines that make up his face and, not for the first time, she is grateful that he cannot read her thoughts as she can so easily read his. Grateful that he cannot see how vulnerable she truly is before him, the love that takes root and grows with each passing day.
and all of us, we’re meant for the fire, but we keep rising up and walking the wires