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kolfandom: ANCD
character: Dee (aka Meresijm of the Dawn)
prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days: I'd storm heaven for you, if I knew where it was
“They are a bit of a disaster,” She admits, open lips hanging above the shaved ice. She breaths in the cold, thankful for the distraction. It reminds her of him, all soothing in a cheap, crinkled wrapper; the ice slips, and she banishes the thought away to the rubbish bin where it belongs.
Her mother sighs, and Dee sinks deeper into the sofa, refusing to meet the woman’s eyes. She nibbles the ice instead, pretending she has no further cares than keeping the sharp cold away from her aching molar.
She wonders if either of her boys could fix the tooth, smiles at how handy sharing a flat with the healing boys can be. The smile tightens as, in a fit of rare (these days at least) fancy, she wonders if there’s an angelic of dentistry.
Knowing their bunch, he was born fallen.
“It isn’t proper for a lady to share her living space with two men she’s not related to,” Veronica sips her tea with a delicate air foreign to the woman who had given birth to a house of children, all with different fathers. Dee resists the urge to roll her eyes at the woman’s double standards. It is difficult to think of her as Mother, not after the memories hit her, after wave after wave of mothers falling muddled into her mind, the whirlwind of death ending, beginning with the brassy smile of her first. Haniel, who had given her no siblings but lifetimes of Asiels to protect her in the woman’s absence.
Dee doesn’t like to admit it, but there is an ache inside, a burning she’d never noticed until the wings had come, the ache for a woman so long dead, her bones had turned to ash countless times over.
She is thankful, not for the first time, that Haniel has not been found. She dares not wonder what that revival would do to Galen, though she suspects it might be hilarious before the overwhelming awkward starts, and there’s no fun teasing Galen when most of the tension is framed by Dee’s wobbling heart for a Mother she still reaches for in the darkness.
She is still relieved there’d been no awkwardness when Galen had pointed out his brother, just laughter and memories and the first of countless pranks against this Asiel they both loved though they had no logical reason to. The heart just knew.
Veronica, as always, is oblivious to Dee’s distraction, continuing her hollow censure. “If you were dating one of these boys, it would at least make sense. Both of them are very attractive.”
“Mother, Marion’s girl has a bun warming already. Nudging me to drop trou for my flatmates is beyond the pale.” It was difficult to keep the disgust from her face. The thought of her and Galen!
Veronica waves a hand, dismissing Dee. “You can’t blame a mother for trying, Elaine.”
This time, Dee allows her teeth to show, ivory savaging the ice. She has forgotten the bloody tooth and groans, pressing a hand against the clench of pain. “He’s been a father to me for countless lives.”
“I wasn’t talking about the one with the face that belongs on those trashy novels,” Veronica waves a hand again before setting the cup careful on the weathered table. The distant, appreciative look does not belong on the face of a mother, and for a long, horrifying moment of stabbing pain and fumbled ice and Veronica’s hiss as her couch suffered yet another stain, Dee wonders if Veronica is Haniel reborn.
But the moment passes, the pain eases, and Dee pushes the past that has threatened to consume her aside. She has won, this time, and there is only the present crammed into the battered sitting room. “Mother,” Dee says, and for the first time in years the title belongs to one woman and one woman alone.
character: Dee (aka Meresijm of the Dawn)
prompt:
31_days: I'd storm heaven for you, if I knew where it was“They are a bit of a disaster,” She admits, open lips hanging above the shaved ice. She breaths in the cold, thankful for the distraction. It reminds her of him, all soothing in a cheap, crinkled wrapper; the ice slips, and she banishes the thought away to the rubbish bin where it belongs.
Her mother sighs, and Dee sinks deeper into the sofa, refusing to meet the woman’s eyes. She nibbles the ice instead, pretending she has no further cares than keeping the sharp cold away from her aching molar.
She wonders if either of her boys could fix the tooth, smiles at how handy sharing a flat with the healing boys can be. The smile tightens as, in a fit of rare (these days at least) fancy, she wonders if there’s an angelic of dentistry.
Knowing their bunch, he was born fallen.
“It isn’t proper for a lady to share her living space with two men she’s not related to,” Veronica sips her tea with a delicate air foreign to the woman who had given birth to a house of children, all with different fathers. Dee resists the urge to roll her eyes at the woman’s double standards. It is difficult to think of her as Mother, not after the memories hit her, after wave after wave of mothers falling muddled into her mind, the whirlwind of death ending, beginning with the brassy smile of her first. Haniel, who had given her no siblings but lifetimes of Asiels to protect her in the woman’s absence.
Dee doesn’t like to admit it, but there is an ache inside, a burning she’d never noticed until the wings had come, the ache for a woman so long dead, her bones had turned to ash countless times over.
She is thankful, not for the first time, that Haniel has not been found. She dares not wonder what that revival would do to Galen, though she suspects it might be hilarious before the overwhelming awkward starts, and there’s no fun teasing Galen when most of the tension is framed by Dee’s wobbling heart for a Mother she still reaches for in the darkness.
She is still relieved there’d been no awkwardness when Galen had pointed out his brother, just laughter and memories and the first of countless pranks against this Asiel they both loved though they had no logical reason to. The heart just knew.
Veronica, as always, is oblivious to Dee’s distraction, continuing her hollow censure. “If you were dating one of these boys, it would at least make sense. Both of them are very attractive.”
“Mother, Marion’s girl has a bun warming already. Nudging me to drop trou for my flatmates is beyond the pale.” It was difficult to keep the disgust from her face. The thought of her and Galen!
Veronica waves a hand, dismissing Dee. “You can’t blame a mother for trying, Elaine.”
This time, Dee allows her teeth to show, ivory savaging the ice. She has forgotten the bloody tooth and groans, pressing a hand against the clench of pain. “He’s been a father to me for countless lives.”
“I wasn’t talking about the one with the face that belongs on those trashy novels,” Veronica waves a hand again before setting the cup careful on the weathered table. The distant, appreciative look does not belong on the face of a mother, and for a long, horrifying moment of stabbing pain and fumbled ice and Veronica’s hiss as her couch suffered yet another stain, Dee wonders if Veronica is Haniel reborn.
But the moment passes, the pain eases, and Dee pushes the past that has threatened to consume her aside. She has won, this time, and there is only the present crammed into the battered sitting room. “Mother,” Dee says, and for the first time in years the title belongs to one woman and one woman alone.
