#essamon ship

[royal-writer]

look at these absolute fools

They love each other, they just don’t know it yet >:3c

[royal-writer]

I took more time on this then I will openly admit. Still left considering bumping Essie’s age up further due to the gap but it’s otherwise fairly accurate I believe!

I crack up at “Falling in love” becuz for Essie it varies between “all of these at once” or “this one a bit more rn but it’s bound to change in 60 secs”

[royal-writer]

Not my proudest (forgot an arm too whoops) but Dem Bedroom Eyes 👀

[royal-writer]

Do your kisses feel the same? Do you still have the same touch? And will you whisper softly, Because you’ve missed me so much? Have you heard all of my prayers, When I laid down at night? And did you feel my body, When I held your pillow tight?

-

Watching Hepsiba was like a residual haunting; a picture playing over and over again in the house. Though she was growing into her own; also fractures of him, still pieces of Essätha shone through her actions in some manners all but too eerie. It made him wonder how much of her charm was natural, and how much was an inherited gift. Anyone could be special; and sweet, coming from any lifestyle but there was an overlapping photo of someone else laid into her that seemed too real.

With a smile that was adoring and frayed with an exhaustion that had never been satisfied all these years, Amon held to the side of the sturdy ladder carefully as he watched his brave little girl. She perched herself in a way that made his heart flip with concern, but he hovered nearby to make sure he was there to catch her, should she take a fall.

“Do the curtains look straight to you?”

“Pull the one on your right a little more inward, I think.”

With hands still so endearingly small, she reached over to tug the fabric a little bit more into place. Her body wobbled, and she leaned to brace a hand against the window, leaving a handprint. The light of the sun was blotted out, but it was still absorbed in the softened caramel of her eyes and in the quirky stiff smile of concentration she wore.

“Better?”

“Much,” he murmured softly, offer out a hand to brace her back as she wavered. “Now come on down, Sibby, you’re going to give me heart failure.”

She scoffed. “I was the one to take them down and wash them, I should be the one to put them back up!”

He almost laughed at her defiance; the burning spirit in her steadfast resolute behavior. Just like his Essie, she picked her battlegrounds in the most obscure places, but he loved her all the same.

Keeping a careful hand pressed lightly to her back, Amon aided in guiding Hepsiba back down the rungs and to the floor. She hopped down the last two proudly, offering him a rebellious smile to his high-pitched gasp and narrowed gaze of unspoken scolding. His spritely little girl liked to push her luck. He just hoped she wouldn’t push it too far.

“Be more careful sweetheart, please,” he mumbled.

“I was careful,” she sang in response, reaching for his arm. “I knew you were here to catch me if I took a fall.”

Oh, how unprepared his heart was for her words. She knew him. She saw through him, like her mother did. Trusted him just as deeply. Yes he would protect her, at all costs. She could count on him for anything, anything at all, and he would never judge her. He would never persecute her or toss her aside. She could make the worst mistakes, and he would still be there to pick her up and offer her a better path; a safer path, to follow.

He sighed deeply, emptying some of the ache from his chest. Though he ignored her smug grin, he did bother to slip the strands of soft-toned ebony loose from her two braids back behind her ears and look down into those vibrant, youthful eyes to feel the parental tug on his heartstrings. How he loved his little girl with all of his very being. The center of his world. The reason for his being.

Sibby giggled, free at heart and untamed still as the wilds. She twirled away from him, her plain summer dress twirling around her ankles as she spun around.

He unlatched the extension on the ladder Abernathy had made for them, and took it down cautiously. His eyes darted across to where she was, always on the edge of overprotective mode.

Joining her over at the dresser too tall for her, Amon watched as she took a rag from a bucket she’d been letting it soak in. Water and mineral oils, a touch of lemon. She wrung it out a few times, and got to work on wiping down the furniture with a large grin plastered on her face.

“You don’t have to do all of that.”

“I know, but I want to help.”

Chuckling softly, Amon picked up a small framed portrait to set on the floor. “There’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?”

Hepsiba shook her head. He reached for the next item on the stand.

“No, daddy. I love spending time with you. Besides,” she chimed in brightly, “helping others makes me feel good. If I can make someone’s life a little easier; a little better, by doing one good deed at a time, then I’ll start somewhere small, and hope I make a difference. I think it would make mom proud. It’s nice to put a smile on someone’s face, don’t you-”

It was too late. As a rush of cold shock and churning emotions conquered him, Amon’s shaky hands fumbled with the porcelain in his hands. It hit the floor, shattering into dozens of chunks and fragments.

There was a stunned silence. Hepsiba instantly reached for his arm, leaving the towel on the dresser.

“Daddy-”

His breath caught. She never met her mother. She never met Essätha, but her mimicry was so spot on, so alike to her that he thought he had to be dreaming, or hallucinating. It was deja vu. She should not know her mother’s phrasing; should not know how to crawl under people’s skin in the manners she could yet she could and she did. She saw through veil’s like a thin sheet of glass, and spoke loudly and proudly of hope and love and happiness and peace like it was the only outcome imaginable. Even on the days when it rained; when it poured and looked as though the sun would never return, she still smiled and would said that the sun would rise again, and all this rain would make the flowers bloom and grow and feed the rivers that spread the lifeblood of water to the animals.

It was a struggle not to hear and see Essätha in her, then. They shared the same heart; the same wisdom, the same personalities that burned bright and you could not forget.

But he could not make sense of how she knew her mother so intimately, without having ever known her. Without ever hearing her voice. Without ever seeing her smile outside of portraits. No novels or papers did her justice. No stories could capture her essence, yet she knew her mother like she knew herself; like she knew her own soul, and it reflected in a prism so alike it made him ache all anew with longing from a wound that could never heal.

He dragged in a deep, shuddering rush of air, and blinked down upon the floor where the remnants of the vase were scattered.

His throat constricted helplessly.

The remains of the vase were almost indistinguishable. The ornate golden handles were broken into pieces. All the carefully painted details of flowers across the soft emerald color were fallen petals, some protruding beneath the dresser. The scaly texture of the winding serpent on the surface, painstakingly carved into the craftsmanship during its molding process, lay in pieces. Its granite mottled pattern, a close resemblance to his late wife, lay everywhere. A single shard, with a perfectly sculpted golden butterscotch eye, seemed to stare back at him.

Amon’s insides shuddered. One of the first year anniversary gifts on their wedding day he had gotten for his darling Essätha; the flowers he had hand painted upon it himself, and he… he had shattered it. Broke it. Lost it as he did her; the piece of furniture not used since her passing that sat in a solemn reminder.

He was numb to Hepsiba’s hand on his arm. Her scared, worried words did not penetrate his skull.

“Sibby sweetheart, would you mind leaving the room?” he rasped, “I don’t want you to get cut on any of these…”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Twisted it into a shape of worry, and finally, murmured a soft, “Yes, daddy.”

He did not hear her walking away. He was too frozen, staring right back into the single eye looking up at him.

He could not replace it.

He would never be able to replace it.

A throaty moan, raspy and thick, tore tore through his chest. It rattled his bones, and made his strained muscles ache.

He collapsed to his knees, a broken man, picking up pieces of his heart with shaking hands.

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry my sweet Essätha. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The door squeaked softly. A bright-eyed, curious Hepsiba peered back in; having been hovering just outside the entry to his chambers.

“Dad?”

Shaking, the nobleman sank lower; clutching a sliver of pottery to his chest as though to fuse it back into him.

Hepsiba’s shoot scuffled nervously against the floor as she slipped back inside, closing it behind her. She made her way over to him cautiously, taking to a knee beside him.

“It’s okay, daddy,” she soothed softly, reaching for him. “It can be fixed. Adela can mend it back together.”

No, it couldn’t. She could repair it whole once more, but it would not be the same. It would know its invisible scars. And what if they could not find every pieces?

It was priceless; irreplaceable. He had destroyed it. He destroyed it like he did all things he handled.

Wrapping her arms around him, Hepsiba held to him tightly, giving an affectionate squeeze.

Amon reached for her frantically, clutching tightly to the last shaft of warm summer light in an endless winter. His weeping raked through him, body and soul. He had enough strength, enough heart, enough arms to hold two. He had enough inside, for two, but he could only hold to one.

And maybe there was another holding on to him. Maybe he just couldn’t see. Maybe it was just the feeling, that never escaped his heart. The yearning. The soft edges of unforgotten love.

But he wished he could still hold that love too, sobbing relentlessly into the arms of his daughter as she consoled him in gentle murmurs that still made him feel at home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been days, but it felt like centuries and eternities past before Adela held out the vase to him again. Not seeming to know its importance, she merely grinned at him and brightly exclaimed: “Here you are Amon, good as new!”

He murmured his thanks, quietly, and saw her off with a wary wave. It wasn’t until she was down the street did he feel safe to take it up to the lone living room upstairs to sit upon the sofa, and examine it. Indeed, it appeared flawless. Yet he cradled it to his chest; unwilling to let it go, not wanting to put it down.

A small fist knocked at the threshold wall mindfully. He looked with eyes of a storm, his pupils a cold and dead center to see the nervous tangle of hair falling over a small and timid face. There was a smudge of chocolate on the corner of her lip, and an innocence in how she clung to the front of her shirt. It was a likeness to Essie’s nervous tick; unable to keep fidgety hands still.

“May I come in?”

Although it was not a room, he surmised her inquiry to enter his space. He nodded, scooting over from the center of the cream couch to pat the cushion beside him and offer her a spot.

Hepsiba tiptoed over. She eyed him slowly, catching his glazed-over eyes and the smile that didn’t crinkle his eyes. She slid in to the spot at his side. Her hand reached out for him, but she stopped herself as she realized the precious artifact he was holding.

Leaning the porcelain against his side with his other arm, he offered his daughter his hand. She looked her arm instead through the hole it created, and leaned into his side to rest her palm atop the back of his hand. He laid his arm down loosely, palm resting to his thigh.

“Is it all better now?”

He nodded mutely. “It is.”

She studied his face. Even when he did not look directly into her eyes, she scrunched her nose with knowing.

“… Is the vase important to you because it was mommy’s?”

The nobleman sighed deeply, from the lost part of his breathless soul, and nodded. “Yes, Hepsiba.”

“Are you upset with me that it broke?”

Wide-eyed, he met her gaze this time. “No, sweetheart, of course not. It’s not your fault it broke.”

“But I startled you-?”

How could someone so small, realize so much? Surely most other people would have thought it was a simple slip; a misplaced grasp, a weak handle that had fell away in the hand that made him drop it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sibby,” Amon stressed, gripping her hand briefly. “I’m not mad. I’m not upset. This isn’t your fault, honey, do you understand?”

She searched his features a few heartbeats longer than necessary, before she finally nodded with understanding.

He sighed, staring back down at the pottery. Its glossy finish still glistened brightly in the sun, making the scales have an iridescent shimmer.

Silence dragged. Hepsiba went from staring at him, to the vase, and back again numerous times. He did not move, a statue of fixation upon his wife’s gift.

“Dad?”

His blank vision stirred to life, staring upon his wife’s final gift to him. Her eyes full of wonder, her youthfully small hands wrapped around his. She appeared quite apprehensive about opening her mouth, and he thought he may have to encourage her to find her words, but she quietly finally managed to find her voice again.

“What was mom like?”

His eyes grew misty. He stared past her, vacantly, into the unknown.

How many stories had they told her? How many tales they could recount?

How could anyone ever describe a woman so perfectly wonderful with words that could not capture her true being; the essence of her beauty and splendor of courage and kindness?

As Amon’s lips tugged into a ghostly form of a smile long-forgotten, he choked, and whispered hoarsely: “A heavenly, gorgeous woman with a tender heart of gold, who gave me some of the most joyous moments of my life.”

He paused. The focus of his eyes realigned; seeing the stare of intrigue and awe in such honest and heartwarming eyes.

His smile grew. “… Including you.”

The child’s expression grew radiant and eager. “Tell me more,” she whispered.

He tried to laugh, but it was strained with hurt. “I met her at the lowest point in my life. She was… glorious,” he sighed gently at the memory. “I never met anyone with so much heart; with so much willingness to help others and an open mind to listen and be sympathetic, and true, and warm. I thought she was utterly stunning right from the start; a delicate and pretty creature, and I had no idea how much she would change my life… I never thought it was possible someone could help me be more me, and retrieve me from the shell I’d been living in for years.”

“She was a brave woman. She put up a fight against anything; no matter the size or the power it held. She had guts, even if she was afraid. If she had an opinion, and she wanted it to be heard, she’d shout it from the top of her lungs until you listening. She fought injustice with ferocity; stood up for the weak and frightened without a second thought. She’d put herself between someone and the snarling words of an oppressor at every turn. She was conscious of the world, and determined to make it better.”

“Your mother was very wise,” he continued on, quieter. “She tried to see the good in everything. She understood things about the world, and about people, that most were too shallow to see. She knew how to comfort, and she seemed to always know the right kind of things to say.”

“She was magic. She was herself; beautiful, true, passionate, strong, gentle. She knew how to make me laugh. She knew how to make people smile, just by being herself. She was pure and rare and something the world could perhaps, not always understand, but her sensitivity made her all the more precious.”

“All I ever wanted, was to return the joy she gave to me back unto her,” he rasped, pulling the vase a little closer as he grew distractedly washed away to the drowning sea of agony. “All I wanted, was to make her happy; to make her feel safe, to share a life with her…”

Sibby’s small hand squeezed his to pull him back to the sandy beach, breathing a bit hard for air. She smiled up at him with a sad understanding.

“Does talking about her make you sad?”

Amon smiled a fraction wider. “… Yes. I miss her, terribly. It hurts, but it also makes me happy, because I get to remember all the wonderful times we had together, and all the adventures we took in the time we had each other.”

Absorbing his words, his little girl nodded slowly. “I bet mother would say a lot of the same things, about you.”

He laughed huskily. “Knowing her, I’m sure she would have. She always thought better of me… Saw better of me, then…” Then I did myself.

When he didn’t finish his statement aloud, Hepsiba cocked her head at him quizzically. He swallowed, clearing his throat and offering a tentative smile.

“Would you do anything to have her back?”

His breath stuck in his throat. Her gaze bore into him. She didn’t seem to realize the weight of her question. Or perhaps she did; and wanted him to do the soul-searching that he tried every day to suffocate beneath the blankets.

Slowly, Amon exhaled. “… I would,” he agreed, softly. “Unfortunately, bringing someone back to life has risks, and can be harrowing on the one brought back.”

“Did you try?”

“… No more questions, Sibby,” Amon hushed gently, bringing his gaze to the floor. “… Not about that. Please.”

He could feel the weight of the small girls stare upon him. She finally nodded, squeezing his hand with reassurance.

“Okay, daddy,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He pulled her tighter against his side; the vase on his other side pressed firmer to his chest too as he placed a kiss atop the young girls head. A single, beaded tear fell into her locks.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[royal-writer]

She finds it hard to trust someone // She’s heard the words ‘cause they’ve all been sung // She’s the girl in the corner, she’s the girl that nobody loved // But I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you everyday // And you can’t, you can’t, you can’t listen to what people say // They don’t know you baby, don’t know that you’re amazing // But I’m here to stay //

Unbreakable - Jamie Scott

[royal-writer]

will you love me the same in july's dewy morning as you do in the last pink streaks of june's dusk wrapped up in the tangled curve of your arms, your legs, the pressure of your lips to my arching throat a thousand rolling pleas off my tongue achingly begging you for just one more kiss will you love me the same in december's cold as you do through the foliage colors of autumn my face against your chest, my fingers lost to the roots of your hair, cradling whispering for you to hold me closer your heartbeat the rythm to my fondest song will you love me the same in a year as you do while we are still young and beautiful lost in your eyes as you get lost in mind oh beloved, there is no language to do you justice no artistry ever shone more great than your smile you are wreathed sunshine glitter and oaken aroma will you love me for the rest of our days as I promise to do you, now and forever, for I vow with all my heart: I'm here to stay so will you have me; can you take me as I am our joys can stretch infinite if you take my hand and I will never waver, for better or for worse

[royal-writer]

God I can’t get over this moment. The amount of love, trust and openness emitted in just this short span of time was so fucking good for my soul.

I’m entirely positive that definition of love is going to grow and evolve, but it warms my heart all the same to see the start of it.

[royal-writer]

i couldn’t help but ask for you to say it all again i tried to write it down, but i could never find a pen i’d give anything to hear you say it one more time: that the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

---

Nothing could prepare anyone for raising a child by themselves. Not after the careful coordinated planned parenting. They’d stick to the rules and boundaries, share the ups and downs, agree on the consequences, celebrate the achievements, reward the accomplishments; it was supposed to be together. This was supposed to be a life-long commitment. A shared dream just like the ones they said before an alter surrounded by people they cared for, with Pelor’s light washing upon them. All the discussions and the preparations, and it was gone now.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

Raising Marie had been different. Unexpected. He had accepted it as a task he would take on by himself, with the help of the housemaids.

But Sibby should have her mother. And he should still have his Essätha.

She should still be here with them. He still needed her. Gods knew, he still needed her. She lived in his thoughts; in his memories, in the last good beautiful love she’d left him with. She existed only in the best places of himself, and in part of their wonderful little girl and her golden amber eyes.

It wasn’t as solo as Amon’s grief stricken heart told him it felt. It took a village, and did ever the village rise to meet the challenge. No one could fill that empty place where Essätha should be standing behind their daughter; a supportive glean in her smile, but they tried to round the edges to that anguish. Gods, did they try.

The reception hall he’d rented out was brimming with life in just that memory. He watched with an observant, patient smile as Abernathy showed Hepsiba how the reel functioned on the fishing pole he’d gotten her. When he pulled up the lure, a dangling set of wooden-carved charms painted in detail were hanging from a simple chain bracelet in place of a lure. The nobleman recognized immediately the wolf-inspired token of the Illiad crest, the bear, the serpent. There were beads between each one, and various other pieces. A heart here. Her birthstone there. A set of angelic wings. Her initials set in there. Pieces of the past, the present, the future; set to her, and to her dreams.

The assortment of guests; ranging from the wealthy to the common people of Briarton, let out collective oohs and ahhs as Sibby reached out for thebangle.

“Oh my goodness, thank you Sir Abernathy,” Hepsiba squeaked with delight, turning the jewelry over in her palm.

“You’re welcome sweets,” the teal man indulged, puffing up his chest with pride. He held out his hand towards her, palm up. Amon watched the encouraging smile appear on the older elder half-orc half-elf’s face, revealing his rounded short nubby tusks.

“Here, would you like me to help you put it on right now?”

“Yes please!”

Relaxing back in his chair, the Illiad listened to the distinct hum of Adela a few seats away. “You have the best manners, Hepsiba. I can’t fathom how you managed to keep a smile on for a fishing tackle for so long.”

“But I like fishing with papa Abe,” the Sibby replied, turning her head towards the pink tiefling. Abernathy, meanwhile, was trying to carefully fiddle the clasp between his large fingers. He was extremely cautious with his crafted piece, but appeared even more weary of pinching the skin of the young girl with the clasp.

Shooting Adela a sharp look, Amon raised his voice stiffly: “And she is more than welcome to enjoy whatever hobbies she pursues. If she wanted to spend her time differently with Abe, she knows she can always be honest about how she feels.”

Adela raised her hands defensively. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Amon.”

He nodded curtly. The snarling animal just beneath the surface; hovering protectively and ready to snap at the first whiff of dissapproval brewed his daughter’s way, merely sneered its fangs. He was on edge. Every word spoken a potential hazard that could send him hurtling towards the depths. That was his little girl she was speaking with, and he would not allow anyone to manipulate her with teasing and jests into avoiding things she enjoyed. She deserved better than that.

Twirling around on the pointed tip of her shoes in poorly executed ballerina style, Hepsiba flashed him a bright smile. Taking a bouncy step his way, she held out her arm to reveal the charms hanging and dancing with the jingling of her arm.

Amon melted beneath her excited gaze. Anger swiftly lost, he reached out to take her hand and flip her wrist to inspect each and every piece.

With child-like wonder, her voice came in a breathless awe: “Isn’t it nice, daddy?”

“It is,” he agreed. “It suites you.”

It was a simple contrast, compared to the elaborate necklace hanging from her throat. Adela had pulled out the fullest to her techniques, and the current trends showed in the piece. Made of white gold, it was set with two-toned crystals; each oval droplet worked to help create the effect of elaborate flowers and leaves. They began high on the neck and trailed down to a point where a larger floral arrangement set of stones hung. It was a bit too much for a seven-year-old in his taste. He bit his tongue from calling it out as what he thought it was; a reason to showcase and sell her work by having free advertisement on nobles, telling himself it was the ale making him cranky.

He squeezed Hepsiba’s hand tightly for a moment before letting her go. He didn’t want to. His fingers felt stiff, looking into her face.

She looked more and more like Essätha every day. Her face shape having lost more babyish charm, now had a high cheekbone like Essie. Her smile was just as quirky, and lit up her face in many of the same places; drawing the same lines, squinting her eyes with little creases in the corners. He thanked the gods as his heartbeat stilled a moment that she took on her mother’s grace and beauty. She was her own sort of wild and special; unique as her own, but of the two of them he was glad to see her gifted with more of her traits from the most gorgeous woman he’d ever known than to see more of his appearances reflected back at him.

He hated letting go. He hated when she turned her eyes away. A part of him; small fragile, and shameful, fearful and weak, fragile and hurting, felt the whispering thoughts of fear. It gouged at his insides.

She was all he had. But she growing bigger by the day; less dependent on his care. His every protective instinct screamed against it. Every moment since losing Essätha, time had become more sacred. It was finite. It was not guaranteed. He was careful not to take it for granted anymore; always left wanting those extra few seconds to spend with Hepsiba that he could.

The youthful Illiad child was torn back to the table of presents as he reached out to place a hand against her shoulder. She seemed to be debating the next one to open; circling her fingers in the ends of her ebony braid, when a short elf craned herself over Abernathy to offer out a box.

“Open mine next!”

“Okay!”

Amon arched a brow in Ravamora’s direction at her enthusiasm as she handed over her giftbox. The young elf wore a twinkling gaze of virtue.

He wasn’t buying it.

“Thanks,” Hepsiba chirped with confusion. She raised up a spherical device in her hand from the cardboard

Recognizing the wick at the top, the nobleman shot the young elf a venomous glare.

“Absolutely not. She doesn’t need smoke bombs.”

Rava pouted. “Why not? She’s responsible; she won’t use them for anything bad.”

“That’s exactly why you’re taking them back,” he snarled. “That is no gift for a child, let alone my daughter.”

To his surprise, Hepsiba spoke up before the elfling had the chance to contest: “Actually, daddy, smoke bombs are usually made from potassium nitrate, sugar, and baking soda. They’re harmless. I wouldn’t have anything to use them for, but thank you for the thought, miss Rava.” She didn’t even try to dispute a reason to keep them, merely offering out the packaging back with a thoughtful smile. “I’m sure they’ll find more use with you. You being here is gift enough.”

Lord Amon dug his fingers into the arm of his chair. It was the only thing he could do to prevent himself from gripping at his chest to steady his heart. Or from perhaps standing up and swatting at the elf’s gifts and demeaning her poor choice in presents.

His little Hepsiba was so wise and genuine; growing up so fast. Too fast. She was teaching him now. Smarter, kinder, better, gentler. A constant surprise of information. A pure and soft outlook on life, that she longed to share and treat all with respect and nurturing. Far wiser than her youth should allow. Far more composed and reasonable than many adults he knew.

She was her mother’s daughter.

Resting her hand on the small stack of books sent to her from Pri’cha; a prayer book of Pelor and transcript of Thri-Kreen culture, Hepsiba looked back over the neatly wrapped gifts once more. She reached for one of the closer boxes; small, insignificant, wrapped in a bland muted maroon.

“This one’s from Sulhadur,” she announced, glancing up to catch the Dragonborn’s eye. He lowered his head in a respectful bow, smoke curling up from his nostrils as he snorted.

Picking at the wrapping paper, Hepsiba folded and tore along the edges until she could pull the box free. Placing the bow and pieces of parchment aside, she lifted the lid to look inside. After a second of people murmuring and trying to peer around, she pulled out what appeared to be a small tortoise statue. From its back, a few live sprouts of lucky bamboo were nestled.

“It’s cute!” Sibby squealed. “This will look nice next to my peace lilies.

“It’s a good luck charm, from where I live,” Sul explained sheepishly. “Tortoises are a sign of intelligence, longevity, and inner peace. I know it’s not much, but may it bring you some joy, Sibs.”

“People used to think you could see the future, if you looked inside an empty turtle shell,” Amon added, leaning over to examine the small planter. It was crafted nicely. He preferred these heartfelt trinkets and culture lessons as gifts more than the overly elaborate things some people brought. Just today, they ranged from a jewelry box made of pure gold, embellished with gemstones with a satin interior to a miniature crown and wallet-weeping gown stitched from a country-renown seamstress. But it was the things that seemed the less interesting that were the most appealing. They had their own purpose, and their own stories usually attached to them.

And he could tell Hepsiba felt the same. The things gifted to her recognized as quirks; activities she was interested in, things people knew about her, little messages, trivial artifacts, and she lit up like the sun. She saw the presence of the person in the gift, and the thoughtful knowing. It was easy to tell who knew her the best, simply by seeing the things they’d brought.

“Thank you, mister Sul!”

The crimson Dragonborn bowed respectfully once more, a toothy grin. “You’re welcome, Hepsiba. Happy birthday.” His tail twitched like a cat for a moment; rising up from the floor, before settling once more.

Placing the pot down, Hepsiba went for a bag next. She reached over the surprising set of art supplies and masks Penimra had brought (there had been a lot of howling over that particularly ironic gift) in order to access it.

Amon looked on, his chest aching with joy as he met the eyes of his friends sitting close to the front of the table. Fellow adventurers. Trusted vassals. Advisers, councilors, old allies, priests and commoners he’d known since he was a young man. He looked from them, to the young girl digging into her next present. That brilliant shining star who he loved with his whole heart. Watching her prosper and grow into her own, he tried not to show how he worried on her. Ever concerned for her health and safety. Always scared something bad was going to happen at a moment’s notice, as life seemed to do all around him.

And now she was another year older.

His heart twisted and knotted. Joy and sorrow intermingling.

Another year, come and gone. Another year closer for her to be too old for these parties; to be dotted on. Another year creeping up on the ones when he might see youthful rebellion to set in. Another year closer to her wanting to escape home, and find her own path.

Another year without Essätha.

He swallowed hard, sweeping as much of these foreboding feelings as he could away. Propping his elbows up on his armrests, he leaned forward with intrigue and an enlightened smile, waiting to see what surprise she’d find next.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hepsiba,” Amon whispered tentatively. “Hepsiba sweetheart, come here a moment, would you?”

She perked up at his hushed voice. Glancing up from the table, her eyes searched the area until they settled on where he stood in the doorway.

Excusing herself from the group of young girls her age, she stood from her chair and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. She approached him in a very lady-like fashion. Slow, measured steps, a vacant but polite smile. She looked as poised and dignified as any nobility should.

He was torn between pride, and disappointment.

Then, like a broken spell, she dashed forward the last few feet and raced headfirst into his torso. He wheezed from the startling blow, chuckling as he reached down to squeeze her tightly against his chest. A grin spread out across his face that matched her own. Not so grown-up after all, he reminded himself. It was relieving to see her still so boisterous and eager to see him; still an overzealous daddy’s girl.

“Sorry to pull you away from your friends, Sibby.”

She hugged him a bit tighter. “That’s okay, dad.”

Dad. It still brought such a surreal feeling of euphoria to him to hear that. There was no prouder father on this earth than him. Staring down at an unruly mess of braided hair and eager grin, he couldn’t be more pleased than to be the father of this amazing little girl. With all her brilliance and persistence, her unwavering spirit and good intentions, she was a generosity no one in the world deserved.

“I’ve got something to show you,” he teased, tilting his head slightly. “Would you like to come see?”

“Daaaaddd,” she stated with warning in her voice. Letting go of him, she squirmed out of his arms to put her hands on her hips. Her cheeks were red with humiliation as she informed him sternly: “You already gave me about a zillion birthday presents today!” Raising her hand, she began to tick them off her fingers: “I woke up to my favorite breakfast, a music box, a new blanket, tons of flowers, sewing supplies, a terrarium, a doll house you made by yourself, with new dolls-”

“In my defense, I only requested the breakfast be made,” he cut in when she slowed to take a breath. He chuckled at her cross expression; narrowed eyes and pouty lips. “And the flowers were from the garden, so they are as much your hard work as they’ve been mine”

“You realize you’re spoiling me, right?” she informed him wisely.

He grinned. She grinned right back.

“It’s your birthday,” he stressed quietly. “I just want to make it special. It’s only one more thing, I promise.”

To his surprise, her smile turned less genuine. Before he could question it, she had her reply: “… Okay daddy,” she caved with a huff. “This is the last one, right?”

“Last one,” he reassured once more in a quiet murmur. The hired gentleman had been working on it all day in the manor while they were out for the public party. Now, finally home, the secret was just waiting to be unveiled. He could try holding off until the last of her friends left, but he’d been itching to show her for a few hours since they’d returned home. He couldn’t wait any longer. He was as nervous as he was excited to see her reaction.

The nobleman offered his hand. She took it; and he marveled for just a moment how small her hands still were. He remembered how tiny they used to be, even compared to this. So little her fingers couldn’t grasp all the way around his finger.

She was getting so big, growing up so fast, right before his eyes.

He didn’t catch the softening light of her eyes, and the gentle smile on her face as she caught his wondering look.

He held to her palm with delicate care. At his side she followed; pressing herself into his cloak like she did when she was younger and found herself shy around new people. He wondered if she was doing it for his benefit, as he looked down at the top of her head. She seemed so content.

He hoped the last gift wasn’t going to be a source of disappointment for her.

“What are you up to this time?” the Illiad girl finally inquired as they started up the stairwell.

“It would take some of the allure out of the gift to tell you about it, wouldn’t it?” he said with a smile.

“You don’t think I’ve had enough surprises and goodies for one day?”

“Never. If I could pull down the sun for you, sweetheart, I’d do just that.”

Hepsiba returned with a startled giggle. “I wouldn’t want to steal the sun from the rest of the world. It should be shared.”

There it was again. That altruistic sense of existence. A deep well filled with concern for others. The sun could shine only for her, and she would still try tearing rays from the sky to gleam on other people in an effort to better the world.

Cautious, Amon spoke gently as they reached the landing, “Your happiness is as important, too, Hepsiba. Do not dismiss your own opportunities, and tear the joy from your own life to satisfy another’s.”

Perhaps he spoke a bit too maturely. Her age seemed to catch up with her, as fear struck her eyes like stretches of shadows creeping in at night. It was as if regressing backwards, and he could see the frightened tot of a babe in her once more claiming to have seen something beneath her bed. Gratefully it had only turned out to be Caesar seeking out his toy which had been kicked beneath it, and not the boogeyman she feared, but that did not mean it did not exist in other forms or people. Those who would abuse and use such kindness for their own benefits.

He cleared his voice, reminding his worries that no matter the span of time, she would always be his daughter. Nothing would stop him from seeking her protection, even when she didn’t realize she needed it.

“This gift is extra special,” Amon relented as they crossed through the library. “I think you could handle one more.”

She grinned. “Maybe. I’ve felt overwhelmed all day with these gifts.”

“It is a day of commemoration. And don’t worry, we can work on writing the thank-you letters together, tomorrow.”

A laugh. It made his mouth bow into a softened smile to see her ease up once more.

They came to a halt, just in front of her bedroom door. He took a firm grasp of her doorknob to stand slightly off to the side, so she could be the first one to cross the threshold.

Her eyes came up to search his.

He offered her a nod. “When you’re ready.”

Straightening her pose, she gave a sheepish nod. “I’m as ready as I can be.”

Amon opened the door inward with an extended gesture of his arm. He caught Hepsiba’s final glance up to him before she stepped inside, and he followed closely behind her.

The tiniest little gasp of surprise escaped her.

A freshly painted portrait now hung over her bed. Figures watching over her, as she would sleep at night.

He followed her approach, studying her reaction first. Shock turned to awe, and then from awe to elation. Her beaming expression went on for eons; luminous and warm, enough to prosper a worker’s fields with sunlight for generations. In a gesture that was familiar to her that she would never understand why, Hepsiba placed a hand over her heart as though to quiet whatever she might be feeling.

The nobleman wondered if she felt the same wave of emotion he did, as he looked up at the masterpiece. It was bittersweet. Love and sadness. Grief and mourning entangled veins ripe with the flowers of adoration and gratitude.

A rendered piece that broke through time; it showed him in one of his better attires for parties and festivities. The buttons glistened, his smile small but in the paintings gaze it could not conceal the enormity of happiness he was trying to restrain. It was an opposite of Hepsiba in the image; a full-blown grin of delight and hands clasped perfectly in front of herself. Then behind her, with his arm wrapped around her waist, a replica used from one of his favorite paintings reconstructed into this one. A charming sweet smile, those shimmering eyes and the curve of her lips that said ‘trouble’ in the most taunting way. Her gown made of gold and green, much different than the snow-white with lavender embroidery on their daughters.

Never a family looked more flawless. He, the most reserved, almost background material compared to the beacon of radiance from two stunning Illiad ladies.

As the quiet stillness stretched, beneath the film of unshed tears in his eyes, Amon began to doubt this to have been a thoughtful gesture. Selfish. Perhaps it was best placed in his quarters, where Hepsiba did not need to look upon it as an empty reminder of a loss she did not understand.

The young girl stepped forward, her hand reaching from her chest towards the artwork.

“She looks beautiful,” Sibby whispered with reverence.

The well of tears were masterfully pulled back, but the tightness in his throat caused a rasp as he replied, “You both do.”

Fingers stretched forward, Hepsiba traced the air a few inches from the painting. Her fingertip followed the sculpted lines of her mother’s face, and then her own. She tilted her head slightly, gazing upon the work as she took it in. The brilliant hues, the fine strokes. An emerald pendant, framed in eloquent gold  design, hung from Essätha’s neck.

Clearing his throat again; this time to garner her attention, Amon pulled out a jewelry box from his coat pocket as she turned around. His shaking fingers pried open the lid carefully, revealing the very same necklace.

“Is that…?”

Somberly, he nodded. “The very same,” he rasped. “It was your mother’s. Yours, now.”

She was misty-eyed now as she nodded up to him, gaping. Unable to find his voice, he made a ‘ahe-hem’ noise in his throat, indicating for her to turn around. She obliged, blinking away the sorrow in her face for a nervous smile as she did so.

Placing the jewelry box on the bed, Amon removed the pendant to drape around his daughter’s neck. It took more than one try for the clasp to catch. Not due to the clasp itself, but his unsteady fingers.

Hepsiba turned around, holding up the emerald in her palm a moment before letting it drop for him to see.

The shine of tears returned, but he fought them off again with a smile. Only part of it felt real. The other half felt forced and broken.

She turned back to examine the image. Gingerly, Amon placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment, squeezing it before dropping it as he looked it over once more.

The silence dragged. The seconds turned to minutes.

“You look so much like her,” he uttered hoarsely. His voice regained strength as she looked over her shoulder at him; venturing gently, “You have your mother’s soulful eyes; compassionate, wise, and thoughtful.”

It felt like more than one pair of butterscotch colored eyes were gazing upon him; seeing right through him.

With more heartbreak then she be warranted an innocent soul, Hepsiba piped up meekly: “Do you think she’d like me?”

He reached for her, pulling his little girl slowly into his chest, her fingers wrapped up in his jerkin as she rested her cheek against him.

“She likes you just as much as she loves you,” he defended thickly. “And she’s very proud of who you you are and who you’re becoming, more and more, each day.”

“How do you know?”

He inhaled sharply through his nose, tightening his arms around her.

“I feel her, every day. With me. In this house. Around you. She’s never truly left us,” his voice wavered. “Your mother had the most generous, loving soul. She wanted you more than anything. Your happiness, your good health, your freedom. I know it’s hard to understand someone you’ve never known, but there is nothing she wouldn’t have done for you; and there is nothing you could have done to make her doubt you.”

The glint of the gold bounced off the chain of her necklace as Hepsiba shook her head, burying more of her face against his torso.

“I feel like I’ve known her my whole life, from the stories you tell about her, and from what everyone says,” she muffled against him, tightening her grasp. “I just wish she could hold me sometimes like you do.”

Amon tightened his grip, enough for two.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he choked, tears shining in his glossy eyes again.

“Me too.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later, the door shut quietly behind him as he entered the lounging room with a sigh.

Craning her neck, Adela glanced back at him with a smile. “Kiddo in bed?”

He nodded. He still felt numb, body disconnected from the rest of him.

Her smile faltered, and everyone else’s followed. Ravamora scooted aside from where she sat cross-legged on the bear-skin rug on the floor for him to step by. Accusatory trophy heads of beasts glowered down at him with their marble eyes.

Sinking down roughly into the couch, Abernathy reached out to pat his shoulder with an impressive hand.

“What did she say about the gift?” Sulhadur cautiously asked.

“She loved it, of course,” he stated calmly, bringing up his tired eyes.

Silence. Anything but the silence. It clawed at him. Their pitying gazes; the hurt and concern. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to fight something; punch and claw and turn inside out with wrath and gluttonous rage.

Penimra and Pri’cha on the opposite sofa, stared at him worringly.

“How do you feel, Lord Anon?” the solar-glowing bug chirped.

I’m fine, he said, but the word did not escape the constriction of his throat and his mouth merely hung open. I’m fine, he said, as the whirlpool of the day he’d been trying to swim again finally sucked him into the black hole. I’m fine, he said, as the crippling loneliness, the anguish, the hurt, the hate all boiled up inside of him like an oozing plume of erupting lava.

Today was supposed to be a day of jubilation. His sweet little Hepsiba had fought so hard to be in this world today. The essence of his very life resided in her. She gave him strength, when he recalled what little he had left in this empty husk of a life. So much struggle and weary loneliness; spent pushing people away, afraid of the animal that he was and repulsed by his actions. To love and to lose, and then to cling, desperately, to the last good thing, the last constant he had around him.

I’m fine, he said, as he opened his mouth once more. But those were not the words that tumbled out.

“I miss my wife,” he wheezed.

He cracked. He spilled. The dam flooded over, cracked, and the tears he’d been digging deeper and deeper into the well-pit of his broken heart came rushing to the surface to spill out onto his cheeks.

Before anyone could touch him, or encourage a breath syllable of a word, Amon slipped off the edge of the couch and collapsed to his hands and knees upon the floor.

“I just want Essätha back,” the nobleman sobbed. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this alone. Pelor please, give her back to me. Give her back we can try again; I would do anything, I can do better.”

“Amon-”

He swatted uselessly at the first hand that tried to soothe him, but it didn’t stop. He sank into the floorboards into a fetal position as other bodies gathered close, trying to nurse him out of his twitching sphere. An insect, curling up hoping to hold itself in its last moments before it would suffocate.

He felt like he was suffocating. Each new sob breaking through a rush, greater than the last, shrinking his lungs. Not enough air. The world dizzy; veiled beneath liquid, chest heaving. His sternum could bust apart at any fragment of a moment, full of too much agony. Hurting, and hurting some more, and some more as he shook and shook, clutching himself, fingers in his shoulders, trying to pull himself into a single piece of something.

“I miss her,” he moaned; not that words were distinguishable between the nasally breathless cracks and raspy choking. “My darling Essätha please, please I need you, Sibby needs you, we need you. I can’t do this. I need my wife. I want my best friend please, please, please.”

It was never-ending. The nightmare he was stuck in would continue again tomorrow, and the day after that. His head aching from dehydration in the morning; a night spent in hollow mourning, chest seizing, wailing, tossing and turning. He would fight, and he would scream himself hoarse, but it changed nothing. It would change nothing.

He held himself together, as those he called friends, held him too. His broken pieces glued together with nothing more than fond memories; a golden elixir, the determination and fierce love he felt for his daughter, knowing he must make the world a better place for her as he raised her, and the patient stitchwork of those around him. It was frayed; blistered, unraveled to put it at best but he had enough dignity to keep it all together.

Until the night came.

Until this day, came. A blessing and a curse morphed into one.

The Illiad blubbered his lover’s name; an incoherent plea of his heart’s desire, as he slumped into a limp exhaustion. Never sleeping, with eyes half-lided open, but never present. Words of comfort were miles away that he could not hear, and did not wish to hope to understand.

A pain too great. A solitude unwanted.

Amon held to the assurance that Hepsiba needed him.

He swore it was the only thing that kept his pulse from snuffing out that night, seven years ago.

And it would be the only thing keeping it beating for tomorrow and then on out, too.