Ah, that age-old guilt. One of Litotes’ most defining characteristics, in fact. How he let that guilt rule his life for year upon year. How he suffered and bled for it. How he never righted those wrongs when tangled up in guilt’s web. It was a pointless emotion, really, when he let it make him so selfish. His blood endlessly drained by an emotion’s spider, he focused solely on self-preservation.
And only thought of the aftermath in the years to come.
He does feel it now—guilt. It’s not constant nor pressing. It does not swallow him whole like it once did. But when he is beaming down at his children’s happy faces, sometimes his gut twists at the reminder of those he forgot. Not the random nights ending in children he never knew, but the mothers he doesn’t forget. The children from Kensa, from Valdis, from Dawn—he knows he failed them. He knows there’s no changing what he did. He’s mostly found peace with his actions.
Altissima’s face shatters that peace almost immediately.
Lie’s eyes grow wide, glimmering with surprise and—something else, perhaps sorrow, perhaps love. He feels every wave of that agony he felt in previous years all at once. She looks so strong and grown, he knows he’ll have years to mourn when he is alone again.
“Oh, you are so grown,” he says, standing still. Uncertainty crosses face and he takes a single stuttering step forward. “Altissima,” he breathes out, her name a prayer that she won’t immediately spurn him. Every word he thinks to say dies on his tongue before they can make it past his lips. Silence stretches for a few moments before he finally settles:
“You . . . I missed all of those years. Do you—” he pauses, unsure. “Do you want to talk to me?”
as it softly glides across your back
and i hope you leave right before the sun comes up
so i can watch it alone
