Psithea cared, she loved, she was one that easily loved others, after all despite everything she loved the mother who had given her away, She loved the father that was plagued with madness. People might whisper of his both his madness and cruelty in equal measure, yet that didn’t seem to matter, those whisperers as like anything else’s, could be easily ignored. She loved him, it was that simple, both parents. She cared for her sisters, even though more in name than blood, even if she was the youngest and often the most forgotten. In the end it didn’t matter, Pasithea cared little for drama, choosing calmness above all, if she could not find it she could make it, changing her surroundings, in her own mind and the minds of others to better suit her mood. Thought none of that was ever real, just an illusion.
She had even grown to care somewhat her husband as she started to know him. That brilliant, complicated man who brought her into a world of darkness. But nothing, nothing had to prepended her for what she would feel once she had a child of her own. She was no longer just a sister, a daughter, a wife, but now a mother and that, one word meant more to her than anything she could have ever imagined.
Penelope woke, the image of a little boy, with white wings, an angle present on her mind. Out of all the blurred faces she had seen in her dream, the little boy, had stayed with her, struck her, making the girl who ran from everything, stop and wonder why it felt like something so important was missing. She wasn’t a particularly religious women, never having given God much thought, not after seeing her mother’s prays ignored again and again. Yet she found herself walking to a church, sitting down and just watching one of the priests about his work.
