//40 years old~~
Send me an age and I’ll write a drabble about my muse at that age.
“Mama! Play me a song?” the small child pleaded in the way that small children do. Master manipulators from birth. How could Sona resist?
“You must learn to sleep on your own sometimes” she signed at them, petting their soft, wispy hair back for comfort as they lay in bed. Her daughter whined terribly and turned their face into the pillow, obviously sleepy but also very stubborn. Who did she get that from?
“Can papa tell me a story?” she tried instead, peeking out from her ‘hiding’ spot. Sona smiled and shook her head. She already knew her husband was in bed and waiting for her. It was her turn to tuck in the little one tonight, and as much as Sona knew he wouldn’t have objected she also knew discipline was important.
And a small part of her regretted being unable to tell stories herself...
“I’m sorry, mama...” Sona looked up at her again. She’d been caught frowning, it seemed. Such a perceptive child. “I’ll go to sleep on my own. I promise.”
Softly Sona kissed her daughter’s sleepy head. She didn’t even need to sign to convey her love in the moment. Such a good girl... Mama loves you so.