BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
When Tiphon looks at their daughter he sees the fates laughing at him.
This is for killing your parents.
A small piece of flesh sloughs off the girl.
This is a reminder of your children’s’ mortality.
The child breathes and he sees part of her rib protrude through her paper-thin skin.
This is for your suffering.
Their daughter’s voice scrapes against his ears like nails on a chalkboard.
It hurts so much to look at her and Talulah both. They could be so beautiful together but when he sees the child he only sees Infection. He sees a past that he has kept hidden for decades. In his chest the beat of his heart patters. All of this is his fault and he can see Talulah wanting to make the best of it. Together they created Ramiel, and what a handsome boy he was. He had no flaws. They tried again and this is the end result. This is what mockery is.
Tiphon draws in a slow breath and tries to swallow the situation, but grace is fleeting. It escapes him as easily as wind through fingers.
He almost speaks but then she repeats his one statement: Like my father. It’s the father that he has never uttered a word about. It’s a character in a story that he has never told to anyone. A lump forms in his throat as fear branches through him. Will she push the subject? Closing his eyes Tiphon waits for a question or a remark, but it never comes. Instead he hears the word “miracle.” It doesn’t immediately register with him what she is referring to, but when he opens his eyes he sees Talulah looking at their daughter. ”Miracle,” he repeats in disbelief, his voice gravely and confused, but still somehow firm. A miracle she’s even alive, he almost says but holds his tongue. He shouldn’t be so cruel to a child just minutes out of the womb. It isn’t her fault that she was cursed with his genetics.
”Our children are both touched by death,” he murmurs into Talulah’s ear as his muzzle reaches down to her poll to obscure his moving lips. ”Ramiel with ghost shifting and now this,” somehow Tiphon digs deep enough to find humor in the situation, but he doubts that she will do the same. The girl lifts and turns her head at the sound of her father’s voice, but she isn’t listening. Her attention dives past them toward the trees and stream nearby. Then it jumps to the bluebirds singing in the branches and the doe nuzzling her fawn in the meadow. Everything is so beautiful and so lively. The colors around them are vibrant. The kingdom is simply majestic.
So why isn’t she?
When she truly looks at her parents, observing their closeness, she scrutinizes the way they lean against each other and their appearance. ”Metal,” she whispers, ”with an angel, brings death.” The innocence of her eyes flashes as they narrow in skepticism. ”Is death a miracle?” She looks at mother more closely and envies the smooth metallic finish of her skin. ”I’m not whole. I don’t look like either of you… What’s wrong with me?” And suddenly the childish innocence has returned to her voice and stare as it falls to her own peeled skin. Tiphon sighs in response and hesitates by looking over to Talulah. Perhaps she is able to more easily coat her words and mask her disappointment. He struggles. The only way that he is able to think of a name is by focusing on Talulah and no one else, like they don’t have a daughter lying there.
In his head he pictures her pregnant with a child as beautiful as the sunrise or as the starry night sky. ”Elaria,” the name is silk on his tongue, suitable for anyone except their undead child, but he can’t bring himself to name her like his father (a disgusting name to announce her flaws). It’s a cheerful name. It’s a name threaded with his lost hope of having a beautiful daughter.
This is for killing your parents.
A small piece of flesh sloughs off the girl.
This is a reminder of your children’s’ mortality.
The child breathes and he sees part of her rib protrude through her paper-thin skin.
This is for your suffering.
Their daughter’s voice scrapes against his ears like nails on a chalkboard.
It hurts so much to look at her and Talulah both. They could be so beautiful together but when he sees the child he only sees Infection. He sees a past that he has kept hidden for decades. In his chest the beat of his heart patters. All of this is his fault and he can see Talulah wanting to make the best of it. Together they created Ramiel, and what a handsome boy he was. He had no flaws. They tried again and this is the end result. This is what mockery is.
Tiphon draws in a slow breath and tries to swallow the situation, but grace is fleeting. It escapes him as easily as wind through fingers.
He almost speaks but then she repeats his one statement: Like my father. It’s the father that he has never uttered a word about. It’s a character in a story that he has never told to anyone. A lump forms in his throat as fear branches through him. Will she push the subject? Closing his eyes Tiphon waits for a question or a remark, but it never comes. Instead he hears the word “miracle.” It doesn’t immediately register with him what she is referring to, but when he opens his eyes he sees Talulah looking at their daughter. ”Miracle,” he repeats in disbelief, his voice gravely and confused, but still somehow firm. A miracle she’s even alive, he almost says but holds his tongue. He shouldn’t be so cruel to a child just minutes out of the womb. It isn’t her fault that she was cursed with his genetics.
”Our children are both touched by death,” he murmurs into Talulah’s ear as his muzzle reaches down to her poll to obscure his moving lips. ”Ramiel with ghost shifting and now this,” somehow Tiphon digs deep enough to find humor in the situation, but he doubts that she will do the same. The girl lifts and turns her head at the sound of her father’s voice, but she isn’t listening. Her attention dives past them toward the trees and stream nearby. Then it jumps to the bluebirds singing in the branches and the doe nuzzling her fawn in the meadow. Everything is so beautiful and so lively. The colors around them are vibrant. The kingdom is simply majestic.
So why isn’t she?
When she truly looks at her parents, observing their closeness, she scrutinizes the way they lean against each other and their appearance. ”Metal,” she whispers, ”with an angel, brings death.” The innocence of her eyes flashes as they narrow in skepticism. ”Is death a miracle?” She looks at mother more closely and envies the smooth metallic finish of her skin. ”I’m not whole. I don’t look like either of you… What’s wrong with me?” And suddenly the childish innocence has returned to her voice and stare as it falls to her own peeled skin. Tiphon sighs in response and hesitates by looking over to Talulah. Perhaps she is able to more easily coat her words and mask her disappointment. He struggles. The only way that he is able to think of a name is by focusing on Talulah and no one else, like they don’t have a daughter lying there.
In his head he pictures her pregnant with a child as beautiful as the sunrise or as the starry night sky. ”Elaria,” the name is silk on his tongue, suitable for anyone except their undead child, but he can’t bring himself to name her like his father (a disgusting name to announce her flaws). It’s a cheerful name. It’s a name threaded with his lost hope of having a beautiful daughter.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION
ERMAGERDDD.... THEM AS A FAMILY D: lmao