If You Want to Know Me, I'm a War || Gerome & Cherche
Cherche sat under a tree, passing a sewing needle back and forth through a piece of scrap cloth she had found. Minerva dozed, her scaled body curved around the tree; lazy coils of smoke rose from the wyvern's nostrils and her rider couldn't help but smile at the sight.
After securing the final stitches, Cherche looked down at her hands to see the finished product - a tiny little stuffed doll of black cloth, in the vague shape of a wyvern. It was crude if anything, but held some likeness to her dear Mineyvykins.
Feeling a tug of maternal emotion in her chest, Cherche realized that she would have sewn such toys for her own child. And she did have a child - a brooding, masked wyvern rider who was in truth closer to a man than a boy. A child from another timeline, who thus far had proven to be battling his own demons and had no want for familial affection.
Cherche stared across camp at the training grounds, where she could see the aforementioned son sparring with some of the other split-timeline children. Even from a distance she had no trouble making out his tall form and red hair, accentuated by the sharp mask that covered a third of his face.
"...Gerome," Cherche said aloud, sighing just a little.
Though it would have been impossible for him to have heard her at this distance, Gerome happened to look up and they met eyes for a brief moment. Cherche dared to give a warm smile but turned back to her work, setting aside the doll she had made and moving on to the pile of clothes that needed mending.
