the things that save

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

To this day she has nothing to compare the image of her mother, days after giving birth to monsters, hovering over the edge of four little cradles lined up with her brothers' squishy sweet faces staring back at her, to. Reiju has found many words since then that just don’t fit: a wraith seeking revenge, a lonely ghost barely hanging on—none of them are right.

[her mother was full of so much love, too much love, to paint anything with revenge, let alone to bring it down upon her sons.

She was probably holding on to the edge with her very finger-tips more than they’d ever realized at the time. But so much spirit, too much life, allowed her to fall into the abyss]

All she knows is on the night after they were born the little Germa princess insisted on sleeping in the same room as her brothers; a giant fluffy futon was brought in so she could be there, so she could listen to the rhythm of their breathing in sync [the last time they would be in sync again, they would realize later].
Reiju is dozing, eyelids flutter once, twice, threatens to drag her into dreamland. The sound of footsteps wake her.

Silhouetted by moonlight, Sora looks ethereal. One by one she traces her fingers along her tiny brothers’ features as if memorizing [as if imagining what these squishy, round faces will one day sharpen into], as if blessing them. Reiju does not jump to steal her attention away, cannot, for the life of her, find the will to move from her spot.

Finally, finally, Sora stops at Reiju’s bedside. She tucks stray strands of pink hair behind one of her ears, her smile bright beneath the moon, where Reiju watches from beneath her eyelashes.

It’s a wish instead of a blessing. Grow strong, grow loved and loving, walk tall.

And like a moon bunny, Selene herself, Sora leaves, returns to her hospital bed.

Warmth floods Reiju’s chest, her cheeks stretch into a smile.

Her father enters the scene with his heavier footsteps, caring not if he should wake her, utterly ignoring her form. Whether or not he knows she’s faking it is unknown. Back ramrod straight, general and king patrols the line of cribs, peering down into little faces, brow furrowed with interest.

But it’s cold. It’s cold as ice. It’s calculating as if they were only numbers and not flesh and fresh milk.

Reiju pulls the blanket tighter around her chin, squeezes her eyes shut to the future. Her thoughts drift, she doesn’t know when he finally leaves. Her sleep is fitful.

[deep, deep in the back of her mind an image swims to the surface: Her father’s face smiling up at her, and in that moment she knew in her tiny heart her father then wouldn’t let any harm come to her]

She will always remember that night even when her mother’s smile is only in her memory, even when her brothers will never know of it.