MASTERPIECES SERVING MAXIMUM SENTENCES | OPEN

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

(please wait for [member=457]miithers[/member] / hazel to post first!! thanks!!)

[color=#b14767]"Vita bona est."

Her words were hesitant and soft, but not soft enough to not be heard by any of her clanmates. It had been so long since she had even thought to speak in Latin and then Suiteheart came home as a cat again and the endearing pet name had just slipped off her tongue as if it were nothing. Now she was curious about the language she had dodged her entire life, the language that she was fluent in and yet avoided because of the memories tied to it. The memories of her family. [color=#b14767]"Sequetur quandoque te ista non possunt in perpetuum," she continued, lips pursing thoughtfully.

It was true- they couldn't haunt her forever. Not after Niklaus and Caroline and the rest of her family practically faded into oblivion. Her fluency in Latin was something interesting about her and yet she tried her hardest to forget about it, to pretend that she hardly knew what the language was. Why? Why did she do that? If anything, she should be trying to spite her father and his chaotic siblings by using the language they shared with her with expertise and grace. [color=#b14767]"Ultra cursus," She decided aloud.

No more running, Margaery. From your past. From your family. From yourself.

That was easily said then done though and, perplexed, the chocolate point reared upon her haunches just to think for a bit.

(translations:
vita bona est - life is good
sequetur quandoque te ista non possunt in perpetuum - they can't haunt you forever
ultra cursus - no more running)

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel wished that she had Margaery's courage sometimes. To just accept her past and take it as it was given to her and realize that it couldn't haunt her anymore.

Problem was, Hazel was still ninety-nine percent sure the nightmares of her past would come back to life and tear her to pieces. She was dead set on running as far as she could from her Mother and her old clan, and refused to drag anyone down with her. This was her life and her set of problems - people shouldn't take the time out of their busy (and occasionally angst-ridden) lives to try and help Hazel with a riddle that couldn't be solved. So until she found a way to get rid of it for good, she would bottle it up and hide it away, where nobody could see it or hear it or touch it. It would be better that way.

But sometimes there were small, rare parts of her past that didn't haunt her so. One of those things was Latin. It had never really felt like it was a part of her past so much as it was...a part of who she was. Nobody had taught her and she never learned it from a book - she was just born with it. Started speaking it one day and never really stopped. Mother always hated when she spoke Latin, which Hazel chalked up to her simply not being able to understand it, and had banned her from speaking it in the house. For Hazel, that meant it was banned in Mother's presence, not the house. So at night, when it was quiet and Mother was gone or asleep, Hazel would make up songs and poems and write them down, all in Latin. Occasionally, when she was tired, she would nod off, humming a lullaby that she didn't make up. The words were like spring water and moss in a quiet forest: gentle and soothing. Hazel didn't know where it was from or how she learned it, but it always made her chest ache with a sad and longing fondness.

But she never spoke it around Mother. And she carried that with her to the Ascendants. It tended to slip every now and again, especially when her emotions ran a bit wild or she was shocked, but she was starting to let it appear in her everyday speech - especially since she had learned Bastille could understand and speak it.

And...Margy too?

Hazel had stopped dead in her tracks while passing the chocolate point, the Latin slipping across her brain like water. Wide eyed, the girl blinked, checking to make sure she heard right. "...Latine tu loqueris?" She asked, voice lilting up in her hope.

(translation: "You...speak Latin?")

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

As a child, Margaery never truly got to know her Father. He had always been a mere presence in her life tasked with protecting she and her mother as well as the rest of her large (and growing) family. She remembered his ways always being... unconventional, but a little blood had never bothered the chocolate point. Being squeamish really didn't work when you were a vampire, anyways. Nobody hid from her that he killed and killed and killed simply so that the Mikaelsons were not faced with any enemies and Margaery grew to understand that as the norm. Her Uncle Elijah was always in pursuit of him, tying up loose ends and ensuring that his brother remembered what he was fighting for. He still made no effort to establish a relationship with her and she supposed that it was hard to bond with your remaining daughter when you were too busy delighting in the suffering of others. Elijah always made time for her though, she remembered that much.

That was how she learned the language, taught it carefully by her uncle who made sure her form and pronunciation were perfect. He taught her other things as well- how to be prim, proper, a respectful woman. He also taught her how to control her urges... how to ultimately shackle the beast. [color=gray]"Dulcis margarita, it'll be hard. The rest of our family is not as civilized as you and I and I will confess, I see myself in you. You will struggle but you will succeed. Tibi ipsi crede. Now, shall we proceed to our next lesson?" His voice still rang so clearly in her mind. She hadn't realized how much she missed him and her Aunt Emilia.

By the time her mother abandoned her in favor of the classic Mikaelson darkness, Margaery had been fluent. And yet, everything that transpired between she and the rest of her family left such a bitter, foul taste in her mouth. She remembered enjoying elaborate conversations with her uncles and aunts and even her father once (just once) who appeared rather surprised that his daughter had learned so quickly. It runs in our blood. Just like vampirism. Just like our... other urges.

[color=#b14767]"Uncle... Is Father proud of me?" The child inquired innocently, stormy eyes wide, hopeful. Silence hug heavy in the air in between them as the gray tabby contemplated his response, his composed expression revealing none of his innermost thoughts. She'd scoot closer to him, a tiny smile decorating her face now. He had to be proud of her! She was trying so hard! And though she had yet to exhibit signs of vampirism, she still acted the refined part of a Mikaelson well enough. He had to have noticed... he had to... Elijah, sensing her innate desperation to be accepted by her father for once permitted a rare smile (ones he usually saved for his family and Emilia especially) to touch his lips. [color=gray]"Etiam, irruit parvo pater tuus cor vestrum."

"...Latine tu loqueris?"

Margaery blinked, not realizing that she had slipped so deeply into her subconscious mind. How long had she been gone? How long had she relived arguably the best part of her childhood? Inhaling a deep breath to steady herself, the chocolate point instead decided to fixate her attention on Hazel's inquiry, shocked to hear it uttered in Latin. [color=#b14767]"Avunculus meus me docuit. Tota familia copiosa," She responded softly.

[COLOR=#b14767]"I didn't know anyone else here spoke it, admittedly. My Father ordered my Uncle Elijah to teach it to me when I was a child and still under their care. I'm not sure for what reason though... All of the Mikaelsons are fluent," She explained in English, hopefully clearing up any confusion any bystanders who didn't understand the language might have. [color=#b14767]"Were you taught it as well, deliciae?"

(translations:
dulcis margarita - sweet pearl
tibi ipsi crede - believe in yourself
etiam, irruit parvo pater tuus cor vestrum - yes, sweet one, your father is proud of you
avunculus meus me docuit. tota familia copiosa - my uncle taught me. my entire family is fluent
deliciae - darling)

[BASTILLEPAW]

Bastille had always carried a fascination for reading, no doubt some sort of cross over from Grimmkit's influence; after all, reading stories was just another form of absorbing them, if a slightly different fashion than Grimm's usual methods. There was something about his fondness for books that was unique to him, however -- none of his souls had cared for books, and Grimmkit himself hadn't cared for them during his brief lifetime as a host, either. So, it may be vaguely related to his role as Wilhelm Grimm's host, but it was still his thing. There were no bad memories attached to reading, no flashbacks rising up when he picked up a good book.

Classics in particular had always been on interest to him, as well as fairytales and histories; he figured that it was because of the classics, though, that he'd realized he wanted to really read them. He wanted the originals, the Latin -- and he knew that Grimm could speak it. Knew that some host, in some time period, had the fluency he wanted, just out of his reach. He just had to dig up the memories and brush up on his pronunciation. He still remembered that time he had gotten lost, 4 months old and too careless to worry about the potential of losing himself in the centuries of memories; he'd been in a coma for three days, trying to find his way back, and in the end he'd emerged triumphant but properly humbled. He had yet to go questing for another language in similar fashion, but Latin was the one he'd truly cared about, anyway. It was the one he'd suffered to get.

Now, Latin had a more nuanced meaning to him. For one thing, it one of his few connections to Hazel. He was convinced that if not for his willingness to teach her to read or to exchange brief conversations in Latin, she would not be nearly as willing to tolerate his presence. Hell, why would she? It wasn't like Bastille was exactly the best of people, let alone the type of person she would ever befriend normally, and her aura outshone him so thoroughly that he didn't even question that fact. Sure, she liked Octavia, but at this point he was convinced she liked the filly more than him. Still, though, he'd take it. He actually liked the quiet hours spent reading old Classics or myths to Hazel, the warmth of her skin radiating off of her and sinking into his bones.

He heard the familiar lit of her speaking Latin, and resisted the urge to retreat back into his room, to avoid her. Because he had been avoiding her, since Starry's death. He knew that he was a fucking trainwreck, and he couldn't stand Hazel's judgment, didn't want her to look at him and realize that he was so far out of control that he was too chaotic to come close. For whatever reason, he didn't want to push her away -- and the only way he could seem to do that just then was to avoid her like the plague. Still, however, he felt a burning need to know why she was speaking Latin to anyone else.

He would have just gone back to his damn room if he had anticipated what was going to happen, honestly.

Instead, he followed her voice, trying to push down the turbulent emotions raging in him, to ignore the weight of Starry's pendant clinking against his French coin with every step. He tried to look less listless and moody, but when he saw that it was Margy and stopped short a few paces away from them, he forgot that he was trying not to act like an asshole. No, he was too busy staring at the two of them, processing the fact that Margy knew how to speak Latin, too. Margy, whom Hazel actually adored and was growing increasingly close to; Margy, whom Hazel was looking at with such hope and excitement, her aura nearly blinding with the happiness that flared out in response to more lilting Latin from the Observer; Margy, whom Hazel would probably rather speak Latin with and learn to read from.

As his stare flickered between them, Bastille felt something dark and nasty surge through him. It was not something he could place, and it took him by surprise, but it was twisting and bitter and he realized, abruptly, that he could feel this more strongly than he'd felt anything in the days following Starry's death. It was soul-consuming and horrible, and he had the sudden, brief urge to rip Margy's throat out -- an impulse that felt so natural and right that it took him a second to realize what had just crossed through his thoughts. And by the time he took notice, the flickering memories were sinking in -- this vicious, angry jealousy that Pollutedsoul felt, the deranged edge that had overtaken his soul, the sticky warmth of blood on his paws.

Bastille realized, with crisp clarity, that he was being irrational. He knew that Starry's death had him in a shitty fucking state, but in that moment, he was fighting a losing battle against the surges of Pollie's soul, the flickering impressions of his thoughts and memories as he felt that nasty jealousy erupt in his chest. The ground shuddered briefly, a minor earthquake reacting to his instability, and he found himself speaking before the words even registered in his thoughts, "Well, I guess Margy will make a much better teacher than me, anyway."

He scowled once he realized the words were out there, but he didn't even care at this point -- his skin felt warm and tight, and for a moment, his irises flashed -- ice blue flickering an odd, mismatched tropical blue and green before they melted back into that cold blue. He could feel Pollutedsoul simmering on the surface, that vicious anger clawing at his thoughts, and he struggled to force it down as he took a step back. He could feel his control slipping even more, the raging heat in his gut more than just low-thrumming violence; his paws were heating up, little flames sparking across the ground in front of him as his dark stare avoided Hazel and found Margy instead. He felt that snap of animosity, the irrational urge to lunge for her, and he turned away instead. The boy was gone within moments, evidently deciding that he was less dangerous far, far away from them.

Besides -- he didn't want to sit around and watch Hazel light up in excitement over Margy's Latin any more than he wanted to stab a fork in his eye.

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[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel's eyes were wide with wonder and hope - twin pools of molten gold glowing ever so faintly in her excitement, the same reaction she had when she realized Bastille could speak it, too. She watched Margy intently, practically hanging on the next words that fell from her lips. Margy had been speaking quietly, and it was possible that Hazel had misunderstood; after all, there were similarities to English in the language.

Not to mention that Margy looked a little dazed, which was...a little concerning, actually. "Margy, are you okay?" Hazel asked, brows pinching. Margaery had a similar look to the way Hazel's head felt the night of her flashback, and that was just not okay. She didn't want to shake her out of anything, though. Something told her that wasn't going to end well. So the girl waited, only a bit impatient, dragging her teeth anxiously over her bottom lip. Latin was such an important thing to her - if Margaery could really speak it, then...that made three of them! Deus, the number of things to do with it would be limitless, and Hazel was excited, so excited -

And then Margy was speaking, the foreign language rolling off her tongue like it had been there the entire time. Hazel smiled so wide her eyes crinkled and her face hurt, because wow, wow, there were officially two people in the Ascendants that could speak Latin!

"Illud est mirabile, Margy." The girl breathed, elated and practically glowing. "Latine loqui non posset de cognatione mea." She added a bit wistfully. Actually, if her Mother had been able to speak it, that would have been the worst sort of nightmare imaginable. Hazel was glad that she couldn't. "Sis felix nimis." She tacked on. Her past was still a secret of sorts, and any sort of clue was not to be risked. Though...every day Hazel felt the guilt grow inside her, because these people were quickly becoming very dear to her, and she was keeping a massive secret from them. And Margaery's question didn't help - Hazel could feel the information bubbling at the base of her brain, but she held it back.

Her gaze became a little more guarded as she shook her head. "Et nota quod in tota vita mea. Nullus docuit me." She shrugged, wanting to divert the topic as quickly as possible. The origin of her ability was something she'd rather not discuss, partly because it segued into other, darker parts of her history and partly because it stirred something deep in her soul that she didn't care to explore at that point.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Hazel regarded Margy with a thoughtful expression. "If you were taught by - " Suddenly she paused, voice trailing off as the familiar sound of metal-against-pendant entered her ears. She turned, and found Bastille standing a few feet away. Immediately, Hazel's expression lit up again and her tail lifted, because: "Bast! Did you know that Margy speaks Latin, too? That makes three of us!"

The girl waited, hoping for a positive reaction from him, because this was good news, but found nothing in his expression. In fact, the harder she looked, the more she saw just the opposite of what she was wishing for. There was a twisted irritation there, and briefly, Hazel flashed to their most recent time together. It had been a little later at night than usual, and she was already tired from the day, but Bastille still sat and read to her. She could tell he was trying to be patient, despite her slow pace. He was so different during that time - so much softer around the edges. Eventually, Hazel had fallen asleep there on his floor, listening to him read. It felt safe there; safe and protected.

They hadn't done that for a few nights, now. Hazel missed it. A lot. She couldn't understand why he looked so jealous, his face pinched and tight, and - Hazel blinked, watching in utter confusion as his eyes warmed to tropical blue and green for a fraction of a second and the earth splintered beneath him. Hazel stared, completely at a loss, because she had no idea what was going on, and he seemed upset. The only time his powers slipped was when his emotions did, too.

"Well, I guess Margy will make a much better teacher than me, anyway."

Hazel eyes went wide again. "Guess Margy'll make a better..." She trailed off, mouth parted on the words. She shook her head ever so slightly, brain struggling to wrap around the words and what they meant. She glanced at Margaery, grasping at straws and trying to piece it together. The Latin, him teaching her to read, Margy, him getting upset...what was this all -

Oh.

She started forward, an apology on her lips: "Bastille, wait a second, that's not what - " She flinched back at the sparks flying from his paws, even though he had made no move towards them. Hazel looked again towards Margaery, just a bit desperate and helpless in the situation. Crap, when had this gone so badly? He sounded jealous, and rejected, and Hazel literally wanted anything but to end those sessions with him. But then he was gone, and Hazel was staring at open air and a splinter in the ground.

"I think I messed up, Margy." The girl whispered.

("illud est mirabile, Margy." - That is amazing, Margy.
"Latine loqui non posset de cognatione mea." - None of my family could speak Latin.
"Sis felix nimis." - You are very lucky.
"Et nota quod in tota vita mea. Nullus docuit me." - I have known it all my life. Nobody taught me.)

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★

[sup]c) miithers[/sup]

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

The hope and wonder that Hazel exhibited in the wake of Margaery indeed confirming she spoke Latin was heartwarming. She felt so utterly at home conversing in the language and, for a brief moment, she was once more transported back in time to her beautiful estate and her childhood. Her father had just returned home coated in blood and she recalled running to embrace him regardless, the sticky substance unsuccessful in fazing the blossoming vampire. That had been the first and only time he had returned the gesture, whispering a Latin phrase in her ear before excusing himself.

It amazed the chocolate point to think that things had fallen apart so quickly after that.

But right, back to the present... she needed to stop getting distracted by thoughts of her childhood- thoughts she had long since repressed. Hazel was probably wondering why Margaery seemed to come in and out of awareness, hell, her inquiry alone was enough to alert the chocolate point that she was concerned about her. [color=#b14767]"Just reminiscing about the past..." She confessed quietly, lips pursing.

[color=#b14767]"Familiare illud esse de ratione credendum. fuimus semper ... polita humanitate praediti. Niklaus patris mei ut essent proflui patruos et amitas eandemque doceatisque filios et pensa quam loqui. mirum memini de lapsu in latino sermone qui fecit omnia them," She responded, the words falling so easily, so effortlessly off of her tongue. She was grateful for the distraction that Hazel's question provided her and in that moment, she realized that it had been ages since she had last spoken Latin. The language still seemed to come as easy as breathing to the starstuck guardian and she knew that it ran in her blood. Just like vampirism. Just like beastliness.

[i]"Always and forever, sweet Margaery... in saecula saeculorum."[/i]

Her father's voice rang in her mind, softer than she had ever heard it, gentler too. For a creature so terrifying, so absolutely dreadful, she certainly brought out a side in him that he had grown to resent. That was the reason he left her, right? What else could it be? Why else would he choose to pursue his own sick bloodlust instead of staying at the estate with Mother and her? Let it go. Let it go now, Margaery. You're heading down a path of pain. Focus on Hazel.

And so she did.

As her voice changed to resemble something more guarded, Margaery's expression found a way to soften. This had happened before between them and the girl knew not to pry. Perhaps Hazel would one day open up about the things that silently haunted her, the things she refused to talk about currently, but until then, Margy knew that it was not, nor would it ever be, her business. [color=#b14767]"Et tu mirabiliter. sed quid est hoc sermone facilis," She extended pleasantly, though she hoped the deeper meaning of her words reached the fae: 'I understand what you mean and we don't have to talk about. It's okay. Just like with Bastillepaw, Hazel's happiness and comfort would come first always and forever.

As Hazel opted to switch back into English, she leaned forward intently, curious as to what Hazel had to say before she abruptly cut herself.

"Well, I guess Margy will make a much better teacher than me, anyway."

Those words... his arrival... They both proved to be a surprise to Margaery.

She would turn to Bast, smiling brightly, excited to share with him she and Hazel's most recent development only to be met with a stare that she was intimately familiar with. In her experience, the chocolate point knew that if you started into darkness long enough, your own darkness began to stare back. She could feel her warmth fleeing her, replaced now by the monster she kept hidden from everyone. The monster that only revealed itself when her teeth were sunken into the neck of her prey. The monster that, arguably, she was at her core. She had been so careful to keep the beast away from her clanmates, unable to shackle it after she made the conscious decision to reform with it. She had done a good job too... up until now, up until it realized that she would be absolutely devastated had it not stepped in.

An unwavering copper gaze would meet his tropical green one, her expression contorted in such a way that half challenged him to make a move, to say something. No words were exchanged between the pair though and before she knew it, he was leaving, bringing the life of the room with it. Something stirred inside of her at that moment, her detached apathy giving way to sudden distress as she realized what had happened. What she had done.

Somehow, this always happened to her.

Somehow, she always proved to everyone that she was just a terrible, awful, no good mother.

Copper eyes still dark, still menacing, would fall upon Hazel, concern gleaming within them. [color=#b14767]"It wasn't your fault, dulcis. It was mine... I didn't realize that my fluency in Latin would... would anger him so much," She mused quietly, staring hard at the empty spot he had just occupied.

Shadows still embraced her features and Margaery looked very much like a monster. She was tired suddenly, and sadder then she was letting on... she didn't have the energy to try to honey herself.

She would sniffle though, a sudden onslaught of tears suddenly threatening to overwhelm her.

[color=#b14767]"Ego autem vadam quo nefas? Quid sum ego de huiusmodi defectum matris?"

(translations:
familiare illud esse de ratione credendum. fuimus semper ... polita humanitate praediti. Niklaus patris mei ut essent proflui patruos et amitas eandemque doceatisque filios et pensa quam loqui. mirum memini de lapsu in latino sermone qui fecit omnia them - my family believed it to be essential. we were always... cultured. niklaus, my father, as well as my aunts and uncles were fluent and thus tasked with teaching the children how to speak it. it was strange, i remember slipping in an out of Latin when having conversations with them- we all did that.

et tu mirabiliter. sed quid est hoc sermone facilis - you're remarkable. it isn't an easy language to learn.
in saecula saeculorum - always and forever
dulcis - sweet
ego autem vadam quo nefas? quid sum ego de huiusmodi defectum matris? - where did i go wrong? why am i such a failure of a mother?)

[Suiteheart]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 530px; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Suiteheart had felt the happiness. One moment, she was lounging near Margaery's rose garden, flipping through a book of poems when she felt that emotion. Joy and peace wreathed around her like a safety blanket, and for a moment, she sat still. An eyebrow would arch skyward, slowly, briefly, as she wondered where these feelings sprouted from. Her baby blue eyes drifted across the page once more, wondering how she had felt that from this. She dug deeper, searching for the source of this strange yet welcome emotion. She found herself smiling as she did so, for she could not help it - she was overjoyed.

It took mere heartbeats to find the seed from which her joy bloomed. The metaphorical seed was, of course, Margaery. Her beautiful rose was sending her happiness again. She let her smile deepen. A year ago, the pair did this sort of thing often. During difficult times and normal times alike, through the course of their days, one or the other would send happy thoughts through their bond. It made for easy days. Suiteheart rarely went 24 hours without feeling cheerfulness through their connection. She was about to send something kind back when her wife's thoughts began to overwhelm her own.

Golden. Daughter. Home. Latin.

Latin? Quickly and easily, the white feline pieced together these thoughts as they pierced her mind. She knew her wife was speaking to Hazel (she picked that up from the images of the girl's golden eyes that flashed through her mind). Margaery was using Latin to converse with the young girl (the daughter). Margaery felt at home. "Et tu mirabiliter." The Latin tumbled from her lips, and an extremely confused look blossomed on her delicate features. Marg had said that at the same time Suite had said it... Oh, had the pair unlocked a new level to their bond? The idea excited her, and it prompted her to stand and find her wife.

As she neared the group, she could feel something shift. Margaery was experiencing something dark and sad and jealous. Panic lit her chest aflame and Suite scurried toward them. She pried and pried, discovering the source of this new sadness was from... Bast? As she stepped into the outskirts of the scene, she could sense the darkness in Margaery rising, clawing toward the surface. Cerulean eyes searched desperately for her wife's stormy gaze, but Marg was distracted by both Hazel and Bastille. 'Marg...' she sent through the bond.

White ears flew backwards as their bond told her what Bastille had said. She felt the coldness of his words, the steely anger in each syllable. "Bast?" she ventured, stepping forward, but it was too late. Her boy was storming off, the trembling ground giving way to bright embers flying from his paws.

In his wake, the Cosmic General hurriedly padded forth, halting in front of Hazel and Margaery. She cast a glance over her shoulder, but Bastille had not faltered in step. A deep sadness tugged at her chest, causing her eyes to fall upon Margaery. She looked to her golden girl as she spoke, saying she messed up. Margaery was quick to deny that, insisting the fault fell solely to her. A heavy frown laced itself upon Suiteheart's lips. This whole scene did not sit well with her. Her chest ached and her head spun. She felt both anger and sadness (anger for Bast being hurt [she couldn't help it; she was mother bear and protected those she loved, even if they were hurt by others she loved], sadness for the way he had treated both Haze and Marg [and, admittedly, there was anger at him too]).

"Hey, hey," she began, gently, calmly. She brushed Margaery's side with her tail, hoping to offer comfort to the chocolate point. A paw would reach for Hazel's in an attempt to hold it. "It'll be alright, Haze. You didn't mess up, I promise. He's just... He has got a lot of unfortunate things going on right now. He'll come around, darling, you'll see." She smiled that motherly smile of hers - it was warm and reassuring. Shifting her eyes to Margaery, she meowed, "And you're not a failure. This was just a mistake, babe. You couldn't have known this would happen. Don't be upset with yourself."

After she spoke, baby blues searched again over her shoulder for Bast. A frown touched her maw. He was so overwhelmed these days. He had good reason to be, yes, and it broke her heart. 'Please come back, kiddo,' she thought, wondering if by some chance he'd been listening in on their thoughts with his telepathy.