There is an easiness between Azrael and Elli, as if they were cut from the same cloth. It is strange, when he thinks about it, the way that he felt such a kinship to another’s child. Perhaps it is the bits of Caligo which are shared between Tenebrae and he… for both had dedicated their lives to their goddess, each in their own ways. Elena is the true string which ties them in a twisted triangle, and yet…
When he looks at Elliana, he sees bits of himself. Though she wears Tenebrae’s mark upon her shoulder, there is a quietness to the way she watches the world, as if she wanted to know all of its secrets and explore its many wonders. There is a love, as she stares to the sky, murmuring with reverence in a way he too did on so many nights. Perhaps it is her artist’s heart, or perhaps he simply wishes to find more pieces of himself in the girl… but Azrael cannot help but be taken by her spirit and her kindness.
As she works, he reaches toward her to whuffle gentle into her mane, his breath warm and affectionate against her. Lost in her formation of the circlet, Elli does not seem to notice those who stared, and the quiet whispers which he caught wind of from time to time. Look how much she looks like the monk… His ears flick back slightly, as he tries to brush it off, wondering how long their family could keep up the charade.
If he could, Azrael would wrap his daughter tightly and steal her away from their prying eyes, where the three could simply exist in peace and harmony. But she would find out the truth… it was inevitable, when she looked so much like Tenebrae, and Azrael found himself heart-hurt at the thought. But as he had a thousand times before, the shed-star reminded himself that it wasn’t his truth to tell. Elena had remained tight lipped, and he wouldn’t be the one to break her trust.
She breaks him from the thought with an innocent question, one which brings a smile to his face. How high did you count? “I lost count when we fell asleep… but thousands, I’m sure…”
He listens as she continues to regale him with tales of childhood wonder, and he balks in jest at her suggestion of a prince not behaving. “Who is this prince? Perhaps he needs a reminder of how princes should behave? Did you tell him as much?” There is a quick pang to his chest, a reminder that in just a few short years, she would leave home for the last time with a peck on his cheek as she embarked on her own adventure. Who would be her prince? It was every father’s wonder and dread, that one day his baby would be gone, a woman in her place.
In all the world, he wanted only to see her happy and loved, and he hoped in that moment that she would find a prince of light instead of shadows – a man who cherished her with kindness instead of burning fast with passion and leaving her heart in shambles.
Azrael clears his throat, pushing the thoughts away as he passed her more flowers, doing his best not to project his own jealousies and insecurities on the child, as he lets the beauty of the festival wash away the worry from his face once more.
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