As he struggles to his feet, Rapture cannot seem to help the way she touches him, steadying him until he finds his balance. She does not attempt to find her own feet until he is wrapped in the embrace of his father. Her heart squeezes inside her chest at the sight, and she swiftly blinks back the tears that come.
Ducking her head, she focuses instead on rising to her own feet. Exhaustion weighs heavily, but concern for her son weighs far heavier. Her pale blue form, slim even before, shows too clearly the signs of her own neglect when she finally manages to stumble to her feet. Her ribs ripple with each movement she makes, hips and shoulder blades too sharp against her skin. She had forced herself to eat for the life that grew inside her, but it clearly had not been enough.
It had been easier, in the beginning, but the last few weeks had been terribly unkind. And she had felt, too deeply, that she had been deserving of such suffering even as her heart weighed heavier the closer she came to giving birth. (She can’t help but believe that perhaps if she had been better - more attentive and giving, more faithful - she might have been worthy of the same in return.)
But now, she has him. Her son. And that would be enough. It had to be enough.
She doesn’t try to fathom the question he had so abruptly cut off. Doesn’t have the energy to. But when he comments in awe on the similarity of their appearance, Rapture does peer up at him. He is as handsome as he claims (as handsome as their son). She doesn’t even try to deny it. “Yes he is,” she whispers softly before dropping her gaze to where he curls against his father’s chest. When he asks about a name, she does pause. It hadn’t seemed right to choose a name without consulting him. After a moment of silence, she replies hesitantly, “I… was waiting.”
Make me a promise that time won't erase us
That we were not lost from the start
Rapture
@[Illum]