a continuation.
your hands tremble, traitorous and weak. needed his reassurance more than you'll ever confess, so you're grateful he gives it freely, though you despise yourself a little for needing it. who are you to seek that shred of comfort when he's the one dripping blood on the floor? focus. pull yourself together, daughter of @wrathuncaged, or you're not much worth that title at all.
so you do. you work more efficiently under his watchful eye; his gaze has never thrown you like another adult's might, never felt the burden of scrutiny or judgment from him. that's how you finish off his bandages with a flare of appreciation for your own handiwork, faint smile piercing through the blanket of concern you'd worn just moments earlier. ❛ we're gonna let her be jealous. ❜ your words are more unkind than you'll ever be; can already see yourself holding out the roll of bandages to powder the moment you return to her, just so she won't find a real reason to match you. ❛ builds character. ❜
but your smile fades eventually. push your arm against his a little harder, rotate it until you can grip his wrist. even that small touch is a comfort, brings you some sense of control. ❛ hey, what happened? ❜ and what if it'd been worse? what if he hadn't come home at all? what if you and your sister found yourselves orphans again, alone in a world this fucking cruel? ❛ how'd you get hurt to begin with? ❜