Perhaps if Lynx were a better mother, she would have been the one to save Persea.
It is a thought that she cannot escape—a thought that plagues her at night. It is her own failings that have led to this moment, that left her to turn her attention from her eldest so that she could walk into the water and find what lies beneath it. It is her own failings that let her daughter nearly find her own death.
It is a weight and an anchor that sits heavy in her chest as she makes her way around Tephra, her body once again slim, her dual-colored eyes sharp beneath her two-tone forelock. When she sees her sea-bound daughter, she almost stays away, but she doesn’t ignore the maternal tug in her belly. She doesn’t ignore that steady pull toward her teal and seashell daughter, that alien warmth of love flooding in her.
She doesn’t bother trying to hide her own musings from her daughter; she knows better than most that she would be unable to shield her daughter from the darker underbelly of the world for long. Instead, she lets it sit open, unashamed of her own fears and regrets. “Daughter,” the word still feels strange on her tongue, but it is wrapped in a warmth all its own, an affection that Lynx has never held back from her children.
She closes the distance between them, navigating her daughter’s thoughts easily, and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “I won’t bother asking how you’ve been,” her icy voice defrosts slightly and she studies her daughter’s eyes for a moment, finding answers that do not exist alone in the sound of her mind.
“I’m just glad that you’re here.”
Stories like this do not always have a happy ending.
Love is not always enough to protect the things you hold dearest.
- lynx -
love brought weight to this heart of mine
