makai
Makai was not a particularly accomplished father. He had abandoned his children—and those who did have the privilege / misfortune of knowing him were gifted with such lavish pleasures as inheriting his own personal brand of torment and agony. Makai would never forget the anguish burning in Malis’ eyes when they had collided in the meadow—that knowledge, deep in his belly, that she only felt this way because she had him as a father. He was diseased and he poisoned everything that he touched. He was an illness that continued to give back in all the wrong ways, contaminating the water that they all drank.
But this knowledge did not stop him from loving this moment. This knowledge did not stop him from hovering around Oksana all day, worrying about the pangs in her stomach and the exertion darkening her coat. It did not stop him from hiding in the shadows when she finally lowered herself, his coal eyes burning with his fears and his hopes and the impossible love clogging his throat. It did not stop him because he was selfish, and despite the fact that he was poorly equipped to be a father, he still wanted to be one.
When air first met the flesh of their newly born daughter, he drew in a sharp intake of his breath, and his chest ached with the similarity to Malis. His heart twisted painfully, and he took an unbidden step forward, his expression flayed open with all of the vulnerabilities exposed. Oksana whispered his daughter’s name, and he took more steps to their side, standing over them and looking down with his eyes wide and rung with white and his nostrils flaring. He took a steadying breath, gathering himself, before he reached down, mouth brushing over the daughter. “Larisa. My sweet Larisa.” Then, to Oksana, “My love. She's perfect.”
you're the fire and the flood
and I'll always feel you in my blood
