HONOR AND DUTY AND RETRIBUTION. / WHAT IS THE WEIGHT IN VALUE OF IT ALL, AS COMPARED TO THE FEEL OF HOLDING YOUR FIRSTBORN? a boy. born red - faced, squalling, kicking fiercely. a stubborn little thing, but thankfully, everything had gone accordingly. a boy. a fine little thing, he overhears someone say, his ears cannot seem to distinguish. and his vision is disoriented, blurred by tears, there would have been no use in turning to see. all of his remaining senses are devoted entirely to this. him. a boy.
my son. / our son. aranea rests, because it is much needed. what she does not need in a moment such as now as him stumbling over words and a thousand thankful love proclamations. but that is exactly what she has been receiving for the past several minutes or so. i love you. i love you more than the astrals think possible of love’s capabilities. i love you. do you hear me? i love you.
( our son. the ancestry tree of house nox fleuret had wilted, faltered. some branches had been severed prematurely, there was fear for the future. but come spring, come bloom. there is hope ; he is hope. )
what is the weight of the boy, one must wonder, for his arms are weighted down. the steel of his false limb has never felt heavier. his entire being threatens to collapse, he was wise to remain seated. his son’s cries have settled to a quiet mewl, head resting comfortably in the crook of his arm. it was akin to two puzzle pieces, made to fit together.
❝ you have bestowed me the greatest joy. ❞ his voice quivers, all the steel rusts and weakens, all the ice melts away. all that remains is the man of mortal flesh. his mismatched eyes are tear - streaked. no words of gratitude will ever suffice, this much he knows. ❝ there is no entity, mortal or immortal, that could ever compare to your ethereal complexion, your magnetic presence, nor the scorching inferno of your spirit. and thus, i shall say it again — i love you, aranea. ❞
┊ ˚˖↷ @arahnea