09-27-2021, 05:51 PM
There is so much that the boy does not understand about how his family works. It is tainted by so much dark and despair, so many tangles like briars buried in and around all of their hearts. But he is learning that maybe families are supposed to be broken things, like how his mom and her sister only have their dad, how Fyr has Aela. Maybe this is why he can have mom or dad, but not both of them together.
“I’d like that.” He tells his father, and the boy does not realize that he is lying until he feels that pang tugging inside his chest, an ache at the notion of sleeping away from mom. It makes his heart hurt a little, makes his belly ache with something that is not quite fear but close enough to leave the first tastes of unease lingering on his tongue. “We wouldn’t be far though, right? From mom I mean.” Soft and earnest, soaked in starlight that drips over the gleaming black of his skin as he looks up into the red eyes of his father. “You don’t sleep with your mom anymore, right? And nothing bad has ever happened.” It is reassurance that he seeks without understanding it, comfort in facing change with an open mind.
But then Obscene is stepping back to study him, and Obsidio can feel his delicate child’s chest puff with a pride much too big for his young, slender body. “Oh yes,” he says, and he is frowning sternly because that is what adults do when they are saying important, serious things, “I am very grown. Almost six months old.” He says the number heavily, adding weight to it so that his father understands this is a very impressive, grown up age. “Mom says that’s half of a year, and a year is a very long time.”
He is silenced though by what his father thinks of next. Of pain and mortality, of Obsidio’s sister. He wants to flinch away from those thoughts for the way they feel strangely like a physical blow to his chest, but he remembers that this part of him is a secret, knows in some inherent way that his parents would die beneath the weight of their truths if they knew they had to keep them from the front of their thoughts. From where he could find them and feel every word like stones cast against his brittle bones.
“Kingdom policies.” He repeats the words, clinging to them like they will save him from the sudden tempest breaking inside his chest. “Does that mean you’re a -” but whatever he was about to ask falls from his lips like a comet, burning out before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.
There is a sudden weight he feels, a burden that sits squarely on his delicate shoulders as he stares searchingly up into his fathers face. “This will be mine someday?” He asks, and for once his words are not the young adolescent babble of a child, not etched in the hint of a giggle as he wiggles his short, feathered tail. This is the quiet weight of realizing duty, the moment the boy becomes something more.
“I’d like that.” He tells his father, and the boy does not realize that he is lying until he feels that pang tugging inside his chest, an ache at the notion of sleeping away from mom. It makes his heart hurt a little, makes his belly ache with something that is not quite fear but close enough to leave the first tastes of unease lingering on his tongue. “We wouldn’t be far though, right? From mom I mean.” Soft and earnest, soaked in starlight that drips over the gleaming black of his skin as he looks up into the red eyes of his father. “You don’t sleep with your mom anymore, right? And nothing bad has ever happened.” It is reassurance that he seeks without understanding it, comfort in facing change with an open mind.
But then Obscene is stepping back to study him, and Obsidio can feel his delicate child’s chest puff with a pride much too big for his young, slender body. “Oh yes,” he says, and he is frowning sternly because that is what adults do when they are saying important, serious things, “I am very grown. Almost six months old.” He says the number heavily, adding weight to it so that his father understands this is a very impressive, grown up age. “Mom says that’s half of a year, and a year is a very long time.”
He is silenced though by what his father thinks of next. Of pain and mortality, of Obsidio’s sister. He wants to flinch away from those thoughts for the way they feel strangely like a physical blow to his chest, but he remembers that this part of him is a secret, knows in some inherent way that his parents would die beneath the weight of their truths if they knew they had to keep them from the front of their thoughts. From where he could find them and feel every word like stones cast against his brittle bones.
“Kingdom policies.” He repeats the words, clinging to them like they will save him from the sudden tempest breaking inside his chest. “Does that mean you’re a -” but whatever he was about to ask falls from his lips like a comet, burning out before he even has a chance to finish his sentence.
There is a sudden weight he feels, a burden that sits squarely on his delicate shoulders as he stares searchingly up into his fathers face. “This will be mine someday?” He asks, and for once his words are not the young adolescent babble of a child, not etched in the hint of a giggle as he wiggles his short, feathered tail. This is the quiet weight of realizing duty, the moment the boy becomes something more.
OBSIDIO
i leaned in and let it hurt
@Obscene