this time [★] mother's day - Printable Version

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AINE NÍ BROIN
FLESHWEAVER
FAE DRUID
INFORMATION

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[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2e8b57; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px"]HOW DO YOU RUN FROM Y[color=#5d8e93]OUR OWN MIND?

[ <.< just say this was the 9th algk ]

Holidays... There were more than the petite deer-fox liked to try keeping up with. Some were simply irrelevant but others... Carried painful memories in their wake. Reminders.

Days often drifted by. Slower sometimes, faster the rest. Aine may have forgotten about mother's day if not asked by a few npcs to help them with gifts beforehand. Flowers. A favor the druid hardly minded offering, although her smiles soon grew smaller and faker.

Aine didn't remember her family's last mother day before everything fell apart. Not in details. A fact that left her bitter. Frustrated with herself. Losing little moments... When all she had left were memories, why couldn't she hold onto them? She didn't want to forget. She had to hold onto them. But it all felt hazy now, like it all belonged to a different life. A short life. A broken life.

Left with the notion that mother's day was approaching, the druid drifted around. At a loss. Tearing up inside. Should she do anything? Should she just... Go about that day? It didn't feel right. Her father still left places at the table. They lit candles on Christmas. Little things... But they felt important. A promise not to forget.

So when the day came, Aine trotted down the steps of her father's treehouse. She made a beeline for the white temple, as she often did, though she did not go inside. She lingered on the outside instead, breathing out softly. There, she dropped a few seeds and pressed her hooves into the dirt.

Upon the druid's beckon, the flowers began to sprout and bloom into a small patch of flowers. Little blue forget-me-nots.

There, she lingered, breathing off and uneven. Hazel hues glossy, staring at the flowers in silence. Bonne fête des mères...

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The leopard knew the day although he had long since lost his own mother. Long lives came with the unfortunate eternity of mourning. As it was, he simply spent the day like any other but made sure to offer some kindness and smiles for the mothers around him. He remembered his own with a smile.

As the paleblood spotted the trio outside the temple, he padded over to join them quietly. His hazel gaze rested on Aine softly, watching as the flowers bloomed around her. Westley knew little details, but it took little to guess from the distinct absence of Salomé for him to guess.

Westley gave the brothers a smile, flicking an ear. "Those are forget-me-nots." One of his favorite flowers. "They-" He glanced at Aine, losing his words. How long has it been? How old was she? "Well, they don't have to mean anything."

"They're lovely flowers."

**noirceur (n.) —-- westley hawkins / paleblood / penned by petrichor

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AINE NÍ BROIN
FLESHWEAVER
FAE DRUID
INFORMATION

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[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: palatino; color: #2e8b57; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px"]HOW DO YOU RUN FROM Y[color=#5d8e93]OUR OWN MIND?

Slowly, she blinks. Eyes flickering. Still dull as her hooves shuffled. Head oddly heavy as she turned. Cracked a loose smile, though it remained small. The effort to fake it was escaping her.

Words in explanation rested in her throat, tongue resting beneath her teeth. As Westley offered his own, she fractured. Eyes misty as she stared at the leopard long and hard. Trying to piece him together, not for the first time. Still, he puzzled her. Familiar but... Not. A ghost.

She breathed out softly. They really didn't have to... Mean anything. It was true but... "My- my mother liked them." 'Aren't they pretty, Lottie?' "..."

"They- they are," she murmured. Lovely. But blue. So very blue. "... 'an they... They don't have to but... We call them forget-me-nots because they- they're meant to help us remember." A promise not to forget.

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♛ | GAEL Ó BROIN

While Gael had lost his mother many, many years ago, the loss of Aine's still lingered heavily in its relative recentness in comparison. It was a grief the vulpine rarely ever discussed, much less with any outside of his family -- private with those painful feelings.

Even at the sight of something like forget-me-nots, the faerie withheld. He padded over to the temple and blooming flowers in silence, expression entirely neutral save the gentle melancholy in his eyes. His perked ears twitched, heavy breath escaping his chest.

They had lived in a meadow in the countryside; Salome had more than enough room to encourage the growth of any flower she wanted, including an ocean forget-me-nots. A carpet of blue once stretched from the door to the nearby woods. Now the memory rested in the flowers and across a canvas in his room.

"They look perfect, Lottie," he offered quietly.

Considering his daughter seemed sad enough, Gael opted to shift the topic slightly, glancing once at Westley in a moment of thought. They had yet to have a private discussion -- withholding everything they each knew of each other in public, but the vulpine knew the other likely had questions about this particular matter.

"Do any of you have a favorite flower?"

BUT I PROMISE YOU I'LL KEEP YOU SAFE ♛ gael ó broin / faerie / ardent