02-08-2021, 02:14 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She reaches over to gently touch her nose to Beyza’s cheek, and for a moment the smile on her face is free of all the worry she had been feeling. “Look at you, my beautiful girl,” she says the words without entirely thinking, because Beyza was, after all, hers. Perhaps not in the sense that she was used to, and there was the fact that Agetta did not know, but Ryatah would never consider her to be anything less than her flesh and blood daughter.
There are other questions on the tip of her tongue: how Agetta is fairing in this dark, if Beyza was still living in Pangea, and a multitude of other things. But Este begins to stir, having been roused awake by the invasion of a voice that was not her mother’s, and that is enough to redirect Ryatah’s attention. With a lowered head she softly touches her lips to her forehead, murmuring into the silver of her downy forelock. “This is Este,” and even her name tastes like worry, and she wonders if she will ever be able to look at or speak of her without a knot coiling inside of her chest. “And she has a twin brother, too, but she wasn’t feeling up to following him today.”
She tries to make light of it, tries to smile away the anxiety, though she has never been much good at faking things. It is clear by the way the little girl has to rest her cheek against her mother’s leg in order to remain upright to look at her older sister that she is weak in a way that goes beyond a child that has simply worn herself out. When her dark eyes meet Beyza’s she does nothing to mask the worry anymore, and reads plainly there on her face. “I’m not sure why she is so weak. I’ve tried healing her, but it doesn’t seem to work.” She hesitates, her habit of not asking for things from magicians so firmly ingrained into her that she is cautious even in asking her own daughter, “but maybe you can see something I’ve missed.”
There are other questions on the tip of her tongue: how Agetta is fairing in this dark, if Beyza was still living in Pangea, and a multitude of other things. But Este begins to stir, having been roused awake by the invasion of a voice that was not her mother’s, and that is enough to redirect Ryatah’s attention. With a lowered head she softly touches her lips to her forehead, murmuring into the silver of her downy forelock. “This is Este,” and even her name tastes like worry, and she wonders if she will ever be able to look at or speak of her without a knot coiling inside of her chest. “And she has a twin brother, too, but she wasn’t feeling up to following him today.”
She tries to make light of it, tries to smile away the anxiety, though she has never been much good at faking things. It is clear by the way the little girl has to rest her cheek against her mother’s leg in order to remain upright to look at her older sister that she is weak in a way that goes beyond a child that has simply worn herself out. When her dark eyes meet Beyza’s she does nothing to mask the worry anymore, and reads plainly there on her face. “I’m not sure why she is so weak. I’ve tried healing her, but it doesn’t seem to work.” She hesitates, her habit of not asking for things from magicians so firmly ingrained into her that she is cautious even in asking her own daughter, “but maybe you can see something I’ve missed.”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Beyza]