etro --
in the hushing dusk, under a swollen silver moon,
I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom
Etro does not understand the magic that is being spun here, does not fully grasp the severity of what her mother is doing, but she is in awe of it. Something larger than her—grander than her. Something that even she could not ruin. She continues to repeat her mother’s name on the twentieth count, but at the same time, she does something she has never attempted: she minimizes herself. She closes her muddy eyes, and she sinks into her veins. She feels her way through the cells and the ribs and the sinew and she draws herself in. The heavy smothering feeling of her ability becomes lighter, and she feels the effort fleck her neck with sweat. She pulls the blanket in; she does her very best to keep herself small, ineffective.
She trusted her mother, but she also knew what failure would mean.
She knew that she would never forgive herself if she caused it.
So when they return, she does not sigh with relief and rush to them—although she wants to. She just closes her eyes again, body slick with her effort, and she focuses even harder, white-knuckling to keep her trait from extending toward her glorious, powerful mother—doing everything she could to contain it.
It is only when she hears Yael’s laugh, her command to wake up, that she let’s go. She can feel it, the power of it flood back into her extremities, and it feels right—she feels whole again. (And, yet, she still hates it. She still despises the negation that composes her.) “Mom,” she sighs, feeling faint from the effort, from the fear, from the exposure. She takes a shaky, disbelieving step. “Dad.” Tears spring into her eyes, and she makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “I can’t believe you’re back.”
-- vanquish and yael's forgotten trait-negating princess --
