MilksopMar 17, 2018Mar 17, 2018 at 05:58 AM
#1
The dim glow of a candle lighting his desk, wax slowly dribbled onto the copious papers scattered across the cramped space. Shaky fingers tried to keep his quill steady, a pair of spectacles sliding down his thin nose to which he corrected between each sentence. Wetting his cracked lips, Fiore visibly winced as the muffled whimpers of an infant grew in volume. The quill snapping in his hand, thin streams of ink ran down his wrist, marking his golden skin and created surreal shapes against his sinew.
Leaning back in the worn chair, Fiore looked to the door in which the fevered cries for attention came from behind. Roughly scraping the chair and rising to his feet, worn and ill-fitting mages' robes clung awkwardly to his gangly, long-limbed form. Stepping quickly to the door, the mer flung it open with an unceremonious, "WHAT?" Greasy strands of his pale blonde hair sticking to his cheeks, damp with sweat.
But a few paces away from the door, in the far corner of the bedroom, sat a cradle next to simple cot.
Heavy footsteps echoing throughout the mostly empty space, Fiore bent over the cradle, thin fingers clutching at the worn wood till his knuckles grew an off white. Staring up at him, a red-faced Altmeri infant no older than a few months. Red-faced, she looked momentarily startled at the gaunt face peering down at her. Sniffling pitifully, she stared up at the intense mer, almost expectant.
Kneeling beside her crib, "you have been fed, you have been changed, at this point I'm becoming more and more convinced you're only here to bring me misery," he hissed, venom dripping from his tone. The baby's sniffles only grew until she began to sob once more, wriggling as much as she possibly could. Brushing his fingers through his hair, Fiore gripped roughly at the roots of his hair, his breathing uneven. "Wretched girl," he spat, carefully lifting her from the cradle despite his harsh words.
Sitting at the edge of his cot with the infant, he seemed to hold her in a way that would suggest he wasn't entirely comfortable with touching, let alone comforting, her. Sneering, he supported her head, looking down at the fussy baby with disdain. "You don't think I feel like crying? You're being selfish, that's what you are, a selfish brat," the infant's cries grew breathless, frustration carved into the older mer's sharp features. Swallowing thickly, Fiore tilted his head back, his own amber eyes growing glossy with unshed tears. "Stop this," he choked, his once demanding tone melting away into something softer but no less kinder.
Adjusting her in his arms, Fiore gently held her against his chest, his palm cupping the back of her head as he seemed to fold into her a bit. "I-I'm sorry," he blurted out, tears welling in the corners of his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. Growing less fussy as she was held, the baby made the odd whimper every so often. Kissing the top of her scalp, delicate wisps of hair the same color as his curled lightly at the ends. "You don't deserve this, I don't deserve this, this wasn't how it was supposed to be," cheeks burning in shame not only for crying in front of his young daughter, but for what he thought was an unnecessary emotional response. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he repeated, carefully rubbing her back.
Bringing her away from his chest to wipe the tears and snot from her face with his sleeve, he studied her small features. The baby stared back up at him, eyes like starlight. "I don't hate you," he spoke firmly, clearing his throat, the mer spoke to her as if she too was grown rather than a helpless infant. "Quite the opposite," Fiore murmured, rubbing her chubby cheek with his thumb.
Falling silent, he aimlessly rubbed her cheek, comforting where he could, how he knew to do so. Gradually, the young girl fell back to sleep, Fiore keeping his gaze steady on her. "... I wish you looked more like Ohtarona, you certainly have her intense stare," a faint smile pricked at the corners of his mouth, though was soon engulfed by exhaustion.
Laying back against the cot, the Altmer kept his slumbering daughter in his grip. "I wish I could say that I promise nothing will ever happen to you. I could give you many a false promise, Ohtarona-- Er, Estre. I'm quite good at them, truly. Some consider it a fault in my character, but it only helps me get ahead ... Anyways." Resting his arm across his eyes, "know that I am a weaver of tales, a spouter of utter bullshit, but above all ... understand that I hold more love for you then I could ever possibly know what to do with, my dear."
Leaning back in the worn chair, Fiore looked to the door in which the fevered cries for attention came from behind. Roughly scraping the chair and rising to his feet, worn and ill-fitting mages' robes clung awkwardly to his gangly, long-limbed form. Stepping quickly to the door, the mer flung it open with an unceremonious, "WHAT?" Greasy strands of his pale blonde hair sticking to his cheeks, damp with sweat.
But a few paces away from the door, in the far corner of the bedroom, sat a cradle next to simple cot.
Heavy footsteps echoing throughout the mostly empty space, Fiore bent over the cradle, thin fingers clutching at the worn wood till his knuckles grew an off white. Staring up at him, a red-faced Altmeri infant no older than a few months. Red-faced, she looked momentarily startled at the gaunt face peering down at her. Sniffling pitifully, she stared up at the intense mer, almost expectant.
Kneeling beside her crib, "you have been fed, you have been changed, at this point I'm becoming more and more convinced you're only here to bring me misery," he hissed, venom dripping from his tone. The baby's sniffles only grew until she began to sob once more, wriggling as much as she possibly could. Brushing his fingers through his hair, Fiore gripped roughly at the roots of his hair, his breathing uneven. "Wretched girl," he spat, carefully lifting her from the cradle despite his harsh words.
Sitting at the edge of his cot with the infant, he seemed to hold her in a way that would suggest he wasn't entirely comfortable with touching, let alone comforting, her. Sneering, he supported her head, looking down at the fussy baby with disdain. "You don't think I feel like crying? You're being selfish, that's what you are, a selfish brat," the infant's cries grew breathless, frustration carved into the older mer's sharp features. Swallowing thickly, Fiore tilted his head back, his own amber eyes growing glossy with unshed tears. "Stop this," he choked, his once demanding tone melting away into something softer but no less kinder.
Adjusting her in his arms, Fiore gently held her against his chest, his palm cupping the back of her head as he seemed to fold into her a bit. "I-I'm sorry," he blurted out, tears welling in the corners of his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. Growing less fussy as she was held, the baby made the odd whimper every so often. Kissing the top of her scalp, delicate wisps of hair the same color as his curled lightly at the ends. "You don't deserve this, I don't deserve this, this wasn't how it was supposed to be," cheeks burning in shame not only for crying in front of his young daughter, but for what he thought was an unnecessary emotional response. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he repeated, carefully rubbing her back.
Bringing her away from his chest to wipe the tears and snot from her face with his sleeve, he studied her small features. The baby stared back up at him, eyes like starlight. "I don't hate you," he spoke firmly, clearing his throat, the mer spoke to her as if she too was grown rather than a helpless infant. "Quite the opposite," Fiore murmured, rubbing her chubby cheek with his thumb.
Falling silent, he aimlessly rubbed her cheek, comforting where he could, how he knew to do so. Gradually, the young girl fell back to sleep, Fiore keeping his gaze steady on her. "... I wish you looked more like Ohtarona, you certainly have her intense stare," a faint smile pricked at the corners of his mouth, though was soon engulfed by exhaustion.
Laying back against the cot, the Altmer kept his slumbering daughter in his grip. "I wish I could say that I promise nothing will ever happen to you. I could give you many a false promise, Ohtarona-- Er, Estre. I'm quite good at them, truly. Some consider it a fault in my character, but it only helps me get ahead ... Anyways." Resting his arm across his eyes, "know that I am a weaver of tales, a spouter of utter bullshit, but above all ... understand that I hold more love for you then I could ever possibly know what to do with, my dear."