In fluid strokes the pen scratched across the paper, each looped letter perfectly formed as it carried with it the weight of emotion. Once pristine ink found itself mottled with the touch of tears as the ancient adhered to her duty, her loyalty to her daughter forever emblazoned in just three short sentences, that would undoubtedly change everything. Rubbing quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand, Ifalna stared dismally at the words as she forced the paper inside an envelope, it’s recipient’s name an idle scribble written only in afterthought. 

She didn’t want to do this, but she had to. For Aerith’s sake they needed to escape this place, to build a new life far from the scientific prison they were forever trapped in. In the beginning, it hadn’t been so bad. In the beginning, the tests and enquiries had been humane, the experiments both logical and feasible, yet now the science department was playing with fire. They were creeping closer to exploitation, barbaric suggestions now interlaced with the most brutal and degrading of tasks. Her daughter didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t a caged animal destined to be dissected, she was a girl, a beautiful bundle of youthful exuberance, and like any mother, Iffy had to protect that, no matter what the cost. 

Pushing back her chair, the brunette now stood, her hair braided down her back as she propped the envelope up against the lamp, in clear view ready for the man that wasn’t worthy of a verbal goodbye. Exhaling deeply to steady her nerves, the Cetra smoothed a palm reassuringly across her own face as she pulled on her coat, the chill of the outside world unknown to the woman as she approached her sleeping child’s bed. If it had been feasible, she would have preferred to do this in daylight instead of interrupting the one moment of blissful tranquility her daughter had, but such luxuries weren’t meant for them. It was only under the blanket of night that they could make their escape, and only under the watchful gaze of the lady lune, that Ifalna would consider Aerith appropriately protected. 

Whispering quiet words of comfort to the petite girl, slender arms wound themselves around her dormant form as she scooped her from the covers, a blanket safely shrouding her minimal weight as the maternal woman clutched protectively at her child. “It’s for the best.” She told her softly, lips pressing to the tangled mop of curls visible against her shoulder as she stepped out of the room and off into the night. For freedom she abandoned her feelings, and for her family, she risked her life. It was a worthwhile sacrifice, she’d concluded. One life in exchange for another. So long as her daughter was safe from the poking and prodding of experimental hell, Ifalna could abandon everything. Even the memories of her husband’s legacy…and the man she may involuntarily have come to love. 

Shielded from watchful eyes by the shadowy embodiment of night, swift footsteps carried her from the compound and past the various security points she’d become so accustomed to researching in these past few months. Holding onto Aerith that little bit tighter, the ageless warrior paused at the mansion’s perimeter, her gaze shifting to the silhouette now stood at the window of her former room, her swiftly penned letter tumbled from a clenched fist to the floor that had once been stained with blood. 

Simon, I’m sorry. 

I love you. 

But I love her more…

Any second now, the alarm would sound. Hell, any second now, this was going to turn into a fully fledged prison escape! Shedding a final tear, the brunette shook her head, turning away from the past and all it entailed, as she opted to run towards a new tomorrow. For life, for love, and for the sleeping child now in her arms. 

Ifalna Faremis would run for her life. 

“The cake was on fire, I put it out.”

One sentence. That’s all it was. Nine simple words. It was a casual statement, a straight forward observation of what had just taken place, and yet it was the single defining memory of Aerith’s fourth birthday. Ifalna hadn’t been able to stop smiling since a silver haired angel had tumbled into her cherub’s path, two lives intertwined for one day a year, when the Professor could so easily be bought by stolen touches and intimate exchanges. The price was always high, she knew, but some things were worth the cost. Especially when it meant two children could enjoy their youth without the burden of obligation and scientific damnation.

“That was very thoughtful of you Sephiroth, but those flames are supposed to be there on birthdays. It’s only the candles we light.” Softly the woman thanked her guest for his kindness, while adhering to the same motherly tone she would’ve used for her own daughter. It wasn’t chiding, nor was it a dismissal of what he deemed to be appropriate, it was simply an explanation that the young boy deserved. “You see, that’s the special thing about birthdays. The candles are magic. You have to close your eyes and be very quiet, but when you blow them out, they grant your wish.”

“Oh.” Was it fair to be spinning an age old yarn about fairytales to the boy? She didn’t see what harm it could do. Aerith seemed to thrive on the possibility of magic lurking in the icing’s sugary depths, and the thought of offering Sephiroth some degree of hope seemed a kindness in itself. He needed to still be a child, she thought, or he deserved to be one if nothing else. Perhaps a little juvenile mischief was what he needed outside of his constant barrage of tests and trials. “Wiiiiishy-wiiiiishy-wishes!” Torn from her musings by her overly excited daughter, Ifalna chuckled at the pint-sized princess of petals as she bounced up and down in her chair in unrestrained anticipation.

She didn’t know which was more adorable, Aerith threatening to explode at the prospect of having her wish granted, or the bemused look Sephiroth seemed to be giving her as he edged slowly away from the girl in anticipation of said explosion. “Calm down sweetie.” The maternal Cetra prompted tentatively as her hands came to rest upon the chestnut haired girl’s shoulders, her head soon bowing slightly to kiss the top of a fluffy curly haired mop. “Now, you need to think very carefully about what you want to wish for, but you can’t tell anyone, alright? It needs to be a secret for the magic to work.”

Laying down the ground rules, the Ancient reached forwards to light the four happy candles situated atop a rainbow cake, her features perfectly content as she watched the flames flicker to life. Scooting a little closer to the younger girl, Sephiroth eyed the cake curiously as he pondered upon his own wish. Would it really work? Or was this just someone else trying to make a fool out of him? His father had always told him to trust no-one, and yet this woman was treating him as if he were her own flesh and blood. Were her words really speaking the truth? He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

Taking heed of the prompting from her mother, Aerith closed her eyes, her cheeks puffing out determinedly as she took a deep breath ready to blow. Three, two, one… Sephiroth beat her to it. Unwilling to miss out on the opportunity for a wish granting, the sneaky would-be SOLDIER stole the first go, his breath blowing out the candles in a single motion before the tiny tot had even stood a chance. I wish you were my mother. Biting back a smile as the little girl squealed in protest, Iffy held her steady as she pecked once again at her hair. “That was just a practice, now it’s your turn.” She whispered reassuringly, trying to allay any impending tears that may have been on the cards.

Truthfully, she was happy to let the platinum haired prince have his time to shine. He didn’t get to celebrate a birthday of his own, at least not to the same effect as this, and it was only fair that he be allowed to enjoy the mystique of birthday magic at least once. Watching intently as Aerith braced herself again, two dainty cheeks puffed out briefly before the little flower girl finally got to make her wish. I wish Sephy was my brother. Applauding as soon as all four flames were extinguished, Ifalna cut into the cake quickly, ample slices of Smartie covered perfection offered to both of her juvenile guests as she plucked each of the candles from it’s sugary home and made a very silent, but very sincere wish of her very own.

I wish I could keep you both…

“She’s just a child.”

Weighted words uttered their heartfelt plea in little more than a whisper, the gradient of her tone softening with every decisive syllable. Long gone was composure in that singular moment, emotion clouding words of logic and reason in the pursuit of something greater. She needed to protect Aerith, to shield her from whatever whims her paramour had before it was too late. She’d seen the files, she’d heard the whispers, and nowhere in her could she conceivably think of a way to justify putting her child through the trauma. She was a child, not an experiment, she deserved the same rights as any other living thing. Surely Hojo remembered that; he’d taken the hippocratic oath once hadn’t he?

Eyes locked onto his, fountains of emerald brimmed with moisture, the gathering fluid building until it seeped from her eyes, tainting smooth flesh with a stream of sadness. “Please…” She tried harder to plead her case, to appeal to whatever good he had left to let her daughter go. Where was the man that made her smile? The insufferable but affectionate scientist that found ways to fit amourous adventures in around his research and cantankerous brooding? She still believed he was in there somewhere, she had to, or else what hope was left that her child would live beyond the age of five? She needed him to comply, to understand, to accept her request, but what leverage was she supposed to offer? What could possibly weigh up against Aerith’s life.

Her hand ghosted along his face, stealing a touch as his face remained passive. Not once did he show any sign of humanity. All she saw was cold sterility, analytical thinking outweighing love. “Her blood isn’t pure…” Ifalna tried to plead to the scientist rather than the man,  yet the words seemed dirty in her mouth. Her sweet baby girl was the purest thing imaginable, Cetra wisdom and human kindness interwoven to make the personification of innocence. She was perfect in her mother’s eyes, a ray of sunshine amidst the clouds, a flower amidst the weeds. She deserved to be a child. She deserved to live her life without the fear of pain or rejection, without isolation and cruelty seeping into her days like some kind of infectious plague.

“Use me. Test me. Poke me, dissect me if you have to, but please not Aerith. Please don’t touch my baby.” The tears still flowed, and despite no words, a foreign thumb was smoothing across her lip, toying with the flushed flesh as it grazed higher, smoothing back those accursed tears with something that may have been contemplation. “Let me stay with you…” She added her life to the bargain, her hand pressing over his to keep him rooted there, stilling his touch as her eyes screamed for closure. “…let me love you.” Her heart was taking over now, self-preservation mingling with something new entirely, an emotion now surfacing she’d long been trying to hide.

Affection. Adoration. Supplication.

How much of it was manipulation and how much was truth? Did she love him? Or did she love the fact that her feeling could twist within him until the situation worked in her favour? Her kiss was hardly a contract, but it still gave a message. In every precise touch of her lips, she offered him everything, yet in every parting breath she took it away. How far would he go in the pursuit of this dance? How far would she go, to see her daughter free from the threat of vivisection and eternal isolation? Iffy had been telling herself for months that the feelings she harboured were purely selfish. They stemmed from logic not from romance, but try as she might to forget them, they blossomed and bloomed, taking root and growing stronger by the day.

She loved a murderer. She loved the man that made her a widow, but sweet Gaia she hated the things he did. The things he promised to do. Lingering threats spilled from his mouth as fluidly and frequently as his seductive purrs, damning and saving her in a constant cycle of contradiction. It put Hojo in an awkward position. Did he listen to his head or his heart? Both had been known to steer him wrong in the past, so was his obsession with the Ancient’s really worth the risk? Concise steps brought him forwards, his hand dropping from that silken cheek to grip the workbench, boxing the Cetra in with rigid arms. Steeled blues bore into her own for a moment, burning the sight into his retinas as he inclined his head in the barest of nods.

“For now.” He complied with a minimum of protest, but only temporarily. An infant was perhaps too young for the tests he had in mind, but that didn’t mean in a few years he would rule out the possibility entirely. Lips pilled taut into a vague hint of a sneer, his hand moved again, drifting down the curve of an elegant spine as he brought his mouth to hover beside her ear with strange sense of satisfaction. “You’re mine.”

{Yes Crim, I’m casually commandeering part of your headcanon! <3 Also, evil Maharaja much? “She is mine!” }

Where once joy had been, now there was only numbness. Fear tore through every cell in her body as she watched from the doorway, restrained from leaping forth into the line of fire. Time had ceased moving, the moment frozen as she watched in horror, unable to do anything. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she could barely even breathe in that single moment. Her whole life crumbled in that instant, the world shattering into a thousand tiny pieces as from nowhere she managed to scream. High pitched and pained, the noise sliced through the air, her body doubling forwards as a gun smoked, shot after shot fired into her lover’s chest.

Blood blossomed forth in pulsating torrents, vomit rising in Ifalna’s throat as she broke free from the men separating her from the one person she cared for most of all. The one man that owned her heart despite never having asked for it. Scarlet pooled all around as she pressed her hands to each entry wound, mumbling her prayers through tormented tears, willing the shining lump of emerald rock to heal him, to save him, to protect the centre of her entire world, but even all of the materia in the world couldn’t stave off mortality.

“Please….please stay with me.” She whispered against his skin, crimson coated hands leaving the impression of her fingers against his cheeks as she tasted his lips for the final time, pleading for a miracle, wishing for that same fairytale ending she’d always read about. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were happy, they were a family, they were finally living for the first time in their lives and a monster had to take it from her. “I love you Gast. I’ve always loved you and I always will, don’t leave me now. Not when we’re only just beginning. I can’t do this alone.”

Salted rain trickled down her cheeks and onto his own, his hand grazing away the fleck of moisture before life slipped from his grasp, silence and stillness overwhelming the gentle man as he took his final breath. “No….NO!” Ifalna cried, the barest of whispers given as she closed his eyes and trembled. The light of her life, the father of her child, the keeper of her heart. He was gone forever, extinguished like a troublesome ember before it had time to be kindled into a blaze. The Cetra felt sick. The world moved in a surreal blur, her grief unfathomable as hands began to pull her from the corpse, blood staining her dress as she put up no fight. “…no….” She whispered again, hurting in every way imaginable.

He kept out of sight for the most part, waiting for his prize to be removed before he dared to enter the building. He hadn’t wanted it to be this way. His mentor was nothing but a good man, a kind hearted, intelligent soul, but he was weak. It was weakness and not a thirst for knowledge that had enthralled him with the Ancient, human desire clouding his judgement. Hojo vowed never to repeat the same mistake, it was an obsession fuelled only by curiosity that had led him down this path. If only Faremis had complied, perhaps he would have kept his life.  Struck with a strange pang of remorse at the sight of his deceased teacher, midnight hues quickly averted themselves as he explored the blood splattered domain.

Videotapes of conversations, home movies, file upon file of research… it was a treasure trove of wisdom, and yet…victory seemed strangely hollow. What was this feeling he felt now? So troublesome in it’s entirety? Frowning, his hands moved with precise speed, removing what precious intelligence he could before anyone else came to examine and contaminate his scene. Books, cameras, roll upon roll of undeveloped film. Photo albums, notes, precious memories all found their way into a singular crate as he bid his employees continue, his own feet guiding him up the narrow staircase to better explore.

Clothes, he suspected, the caged Cetra would require, a simple reminder of what happened to those that didn’t comply. Clearing out her wardrobe, briefly his nose lingered beside the cloth, inhaling a scent that conjured an emotion not entirely unlike lust. Hadn’t Lucrecia once worn the very same perfume? Hojo paled, dropping the garment as if it had been ablaze. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. What if the Ancient misled him? What if his obsession drove him to flights of fancy or tainted his resolve? Was it even worth the risk?

It was lost in his thoughts that he finally heard it, a muffled cry coming from the back of the room. Interest piqued, the scientist approached slowly, gun in hand as he nudged aside the sheets to find redemption. A baby. So Faremis had indulged in a little more than mere research then, he mused bitterly. Tucking the firearm back into his jacket, deftly he picked up the precious cargo, holding the shrieking infant with a sinister smile as he trudged back out of the house towards the waiting car, fully intent on exploring this child’s capabilities like the true experiment she was.

In a carnival of colour, the Cetra swirled, her skirt swishing to and fro as it cascaded around her in a spiral of silk. Laughter poured from those mauve tinted lips as she rose to her tiptoes, twirling through the room in an ecstatic display. Somewhere nearby, the tiny Miss Aerith was playing a tambourine, it’s deft jingle adorably out of time while she watched her mother’s movements as if she were a petal plucked and floating on the breeze. She’d never seen anyone move quite so fluidly, or as quickly.

Precisely why the mood had arisen now, Ifalna herself didn’t know, but there was something about the tune that called to her, whispering it’s promises in a seductive purr until she had no choice but to submit. How long had it been since she’d danced now? Since she’d felt the music speak to her soul and set her free? Too long; she though wryly as an arm raised above her head, her wrist flicking into a tiny flourish as she wove and dived, swinging her hips and humming along as every step brought her closer to a happy sense of oblivion.

There was something liberating about the action, and something distinctly awe inspiring arising from the look of unparalleled awe on her daughter’s face. Why, as soon as she mastered the art of walking without toppling over, perhaps she could learn these steps too! The maternal woman smiled fondly at the prospect, her heart warming and lifting skywards as she commandeered the tambourine, incorporating it into her display for the briefest of moments before it found it’s way safely on the table away from tiny hands.

Bending low, skilled digits closed around her daughter’s body, scooping her tiny frame up until she rested against her shoulder, and once again her footsteps quickened. Leaps and bounds melted into fluid twirls, the rise and fall of her elated child conjuring delicate gasps and squeals of awe. It was a sound any mother would crave, an addictive song of love and contentment, transcending every cell in her body as she drank in the moment, truly revelling in it.

It was only when Aerith stilled and squealed no more, that Ifalna set her back down in her playpen and rounded on the room’s only other inhabitant. Despite her all encompassing display of athletic prowess, she hadn’t lost her peripheral vision, so silent though the Turk had remained, his presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. He didn’t even need to be there with them, and yet the young man stayed, captivated by his own silence with just the barest hint of a smile.

Tseng would always be welcome in this little section of space she called a home. She just wished he didn’t have to wear black. The colour seemed to suck some of the life out of the room, a dark smear on an otherwise perfect surface. The dear Wutian deserved more vibrance in his life, something to illuminate his dubious profession and show him what the world could be like outside of this place. She had a great fondness for the man that guarded her daughter, almost akin to the affection Aerith herself felt, so it was purely out of familial affection now that she tugged so gracefully at his hand.

“Dance with me.” She requested with a smile so intense it could’ve easily rivalled the sun, her fingers curling around his as she tried to pull him into her world of joy and make believe. Tseng of course, merely blinked, his eyes closing in a serene but polite gesture of decline as he chuckled knowingly to himself more than anything.

“I have two left feet, Ms.Ifalna. I wouldn’t dare risk treading on your toes. ” Amicably he pulled his hand away, clasping it within his lap as he tilted his head from side to side, silvery eyes twinkling slightly as he offered his sage wisdom to the kindhearted woman. “You’d do better asking Veld, Ma’am. He’s somewhat more highly regarded as the snake-hips of Midgar.” Curtailing the urge to grin from ear to ear, Tseng idly cast his gaze back towards his usually pint-sized companion, a small wink offered as he resumed his highly professional and not-at-all-mocking thoughts of his superior.

“Well in that case then, dear Mr.Tseng, I do believe I’ll need to make sure I get him drunk enough to either confirm or deny such a title!” The Cetra giggled, a light and airy tone mingling with the background of music as she settled somewhere beside the Turk’s feet, watching her elated offspring shuffle around with wobbly steps. She supposed it could wait another day though, the moment seemed almost too perfect to even abandon this room.

She had all the time in the world left to dance.

“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba wheeeeeee!” The infant Miss Aerith babbled incomprehensibly as Ifalna moved, the tiny tot positioned on one hip as she made her way silently to the laboratory. Without the gift of cohesive speech, the young girl had typically communicated merely with points and smiles, but her developing language skills now revolved around making as much noise as possible as she came to terms with the many sounds she could make with her untrained lips. Running her thumb over her lower lip, the child flicked it with a giggle, babbling away like something possessed, even despite the change in scenery.

It was a rarity that her daughter was brought to such a place, but a necessary development exam was in order. She was still underweight despite seeming to thrive, and a mother’s prerogative would always be to protect her child. Finally reaching the designated location, the Cetra wandered into the sterile air, instinctively cuddling her oblivious child a little tighter in case the surroundings somehow stole away her innocence. She didn’t need to know what went on down here, or how much it troubled the elder woman at times, she simply needed to be given a clean bill of health so that she could return to Mr.Tseng’s capable hands. He was one of the very few Turks she seemed to trust within these walls.

“Professor?” She called softly, wrapping her knuckles against the door in a greeting to signal her presence. Even after all these months, she’d yet to call him by his first name, the formality necessary if she wanted to maintain any kind of objective distance. She’d said it out loud in the dark once, after she’d been sure Aerith was sleeping, the word rolling from her tongue like silk, yet laced with an unseen poison. She wanted to say it. To call him friend. To knock down the wall of cool indifference that stood between them, and yet for her child’s sake, she daren’t. She needed to honour Gast’s memory, and cavorting with the man that killed him hardly seemed just.

“Here.” From the silence came the gruff reply, two fingers raised in a greeting to signal his location as he busied himself with a machine that looked strangely torturous. Glancing over it with an expression of barely concealed horror, Ifalna stroked at her child’s hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she shuffled on the spot without a word, until the physician amongst them had finished. Peering speculatively over his work at the two unfathomable creatures fuelling his obsession, calloused hands wiped themselves off on his labcoat as an involuntary curve found it’s way into his lips.

He didn’t like children particularly, but for the sake of this one, it was hard not to find a connection. She was the spitting image of her mother, identical eyes and hair barely a shade apart. Was this a Cetra trait, or merely the result of good breeding? He had yet to pick apart their DNA, but perfection seemed almost certain. Swallowing with a sudden dryness in his throat, slow footsteps guided him before Ifalna, a steady hand daring to venture forth and greet her offspring with as gentle a hello as he could manage. The action alone, shocked the woman, but for some unfathomable reason, it entranced Aerith.

Curling her hand around Hojo’s index finger, the chestnut haired child shook it happily, waving her own hand as she looked briefly to her mother, before confused emerald locked permanently on the dark haired man. “Da-da-da-da-da!” She proclaimed loudly, associating the vision of dark hair with the only entitity he vaguely resembled. Almost instantly, Ifalna broke her touch, cradling the child as she rubbed her back, ignoring the tiny arms that reached forth optimistically towards the stranger she seemed to think was a friend. “No sweetie, that’s not your daddy.” A maternal whisper clarified the matter, but perhaps not as much as she would’ve liked, as it certainly didn’t deter the girl from her enthusiastic mantra.

“That’s Mr.Hojo. He’s a doctor, Aerith. Doc-tor. Like your Daddy was, but different.” It was hard trying to reason with an infant, almost impossible perhaps, but she was obligated to try, even if it was only for her peace of mind. She wasn’t ready for the complication of it, she couldn’t cope with that thinly veiled line of ‘what if’ nagging at the back of her mind. On one hand she liked the man and his company, yet morally she felt compelled to hate him. What kind of mother would allow her child to fall into such an equation? She needed her to stay far away from the risk of complications and hurt. She didn’t want to damage her precious treasure with such a dichotomy of ethics.

“It’s just babble Iffy. It doesn’t mean anything.” Hojo stated flatly, his voice lingering over her pet name as he retrieved the child from her to begin the examination and allay her fears. Cold and clinical he remained for the rest of the encounter, save for the involuntary smiles he found himself giving the child that wanted to call him father; the child that for all intents and purposes, looked at him with an innocence unparalleled in all of his years as a physician. It moved him; stirring emotions he’d long since thought dead. It was why he hated children he decided, with their bright eyes and damning smiles, offering him salvation on his one way trip to hell. They knew nothing of the world or it’s evils.

Yet despite his hatred, even as she clutched at his fingers trying to gum them off, still he couldn’t help but feel bound to her, in much the same way he was bound to her mother. Forever connected by that fabled question; a lingering possibility of which dreams could be born: What if?

“Shhh, Aerith. It’s alright. I’m here… I’m here.” A quiet whisper broke through her daughter’s sobs, a heartfelt reminder offered as she cradled the toddler, holding her close in their surprisingly hospitable prison. It had been over a year, and still the small girl hadn’t adjusted. Ifalna could hardly blame her, how many hours a day did she even get to see her own flesh and blood? They only had the evenings, the smallest interlude of time before the young Cetra needed to sleep. It was heartbreaking to watch, to realise that every day that passed, the petite flower still believed her mother wouldn’t return. She missed her face, her laugh, even the lingering scent of her faded jasmine perfume.

Ifalna was there now though wasn’t she? Her hand rubbing soothingly across her daughter’s back, slowly she paced the room, rocking her gently with a melodic hum, a solemn lullaby to offer hope and comfort in amidst the trauma of it all. Perhaps in a few years, she’d come to understand that this wasn’t her fault, but to a child, what sense would any of this make? To be stripped of her home, devoid of a father, and placed into the care of people she held no connection with? It stirred the Ancient’s heart, pulling at ever fibre of her being as she instinctively held her tighter.

She needed to protect her. She needed to keep her safe. She needed to be there. Always.

And yet it wasn’t possible.

Smoothing a delicate thumb through the toddler’s hair, short strands glistened as they caught the light, the flames of burnt umber finally stirred to life beneath her mother’s welcoming touch. It lessened her sobs somewhat, liquid agony having painted itself upon her mother’s dress, soaking through the purple garment until all traces of sadness had been wiped from her mind. It burdened Ifalna, more than she would ever care to admit, but for the sake of her child, she would continue to repeat the same sequence every night, checking her tears and mending her heart.

Sinking down into the aged wooden rocking chair that had once belonged to her dearest lover, back and forth she let it creak, words following the path of her hum as she uttered the old tongue, promising so much for the future. She spoke of gardens as far as the eye could see, a land full of sunshine and flowers, bright and thriving, a far cry from the death and decay that surrounded their current abode. She promised her a life without fear and without pain, an existence far away from laboratories and constant tests. That was her burden, and hers alone.

Kissing the top of her head softly, the widowed Ancient waited for her to submit to sleep before swaddling the tiny form in her beloved blanket, faceted emerald gazing out of the window to the world outside of their coop. One day, she’d give her daughter wings and let her fly. One day, they’d both be free again.