[private] I couldn't utter my love when it counted; birthing

[adna]

one touch will make you so nervous you might stop breathing
one touch will make you so reckless you might start feeling
one touch will finally show to me what you can't hide

She would have stayed longer if he had let her.

If she had let herself.

She would have gladly cleaned his shoulder and then pressed herself against it. She can feel the phantom warmth of him and how it has always felt to find herself there. How she has dreamt of it. How she has learned the curves of him. The angles.

But it doesn’t feel like the right moment.

For reasons she both knows and ones she cannot name.

But her smile grows soft and quiet. “Okay,” she yields. Even though she feels like she needs to apologize still. Even though it is there on the back of her tongue and clawing at her throat. She is sorry for attacking him. Sorry for catapulting herself into his life when he had simply been there. Sorry for being so angry and so mad and wanting so much from him.

She leans down and kisses her daughter again.

Just a brush and she feels the exhaustion sinking into her bones. “I think she has your smile,” she whispers, before shaking her head and feeling the gentle curls of her mane stick to the scaled curve of her neck. “Except the fangs, of course.”

There is pride there and she is surprised. She hadn’t expected to feel pride in such things.

But there is little about her daughter that does not spark some kind of pride in her chest. Doesn’t feel anything but pride, even when she spits and bites and hisses.

Swallowing her pride, swaying slightly on her feet, she motions toward him.

“Could you stand a little closer?”

Her voice is quiet, a brush of embarrassment.

“It has been a long day.”

ADNA