Ever since they’d brought up the concept of children, Rumi had dreamt of weaving.
It was always the same dream. Her and her girls, beneath the Seonangdang, dressed in hanboks, the Honmoon dancing around them as they sung lullabies in three part harmony, threading through her fingers as they fed it into a loom, weaving...something.
What was weirder is that all three of them kept sharing the same dream.
"Maybe we're performing maintenance in our sleep?" Zoey had suggested, "That's what dreams are anyways, loading screens while our brains sort out the day's events,"
"But that's before you add magic into the equation," Mira countered, "Did Celine have anything to say?"
Rumi shook her head, "There are a lot on dreams in the records, even shared ones, but nothing of substance. The shared ones were just a byproduct of the Honmoon connection,"
"But why did we only start dreaming together now?"
"Maybe we're overthinking things," Mira sighed, pressing kisses to their foreheads, "This is all Honmoon nonsense and we need to wait for it to make sense,"
So the dreams continued, on and off through months, throughout appearances on variety shows where Mira was a standout with children, throughout trips to California where they'd spend time with Zoey's niece and nephew, days spent with children, nights weaving together the Honmoon, mornings spent with songs on her lips and a deep, deep want in her heart.
Then, one night, they finished, and Rumi snapped awake to the fading glow of the Honmoon.
Mira and Zoey roused beside her, looking about as flabbergasted as she felt.
A whine suddenly cut through the room.
The three of them scrambled to the edge of the bed, and looked down.
A baby looked up them, swaddled in a patterned cloth the shimmered like the Honmoon.
The baby whined, cutting off Zoey's words, and Mira swooped down, collecting the baby into her arms.
"Rumi, Rumi she has patterns,"
She pulled aside the blanket, pointing out dark markings criss-crossing her arm and cheek, like patterns, but softer, rounder, like strings of the Honmoon.
"The dreams," Rumi whispered, "Weaving, oh fuck,"
Zoey let out an insane little giggle, "Oh my god our yearning created a child. Are, are we moms now?"
The words settled over the three of them like a blanket, Mira rocking the child, humming a now familiar lullaby.
"Yes," Rumi declared with an insistence that surprised even her, "Yes, we can be her moms. Wait, it's a girl, right?"
"Okay, okay we can be her moms, but I think we should call Celine first,"
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