Cigarette Jubilee

Her fingers and toes were impossible to see through the swaddling, and Rosefica instead adjusted the little cap meant to keep her head warm. The baby’s ears were small too, they trembled sometimes while she slept, the tips wiggling here and there. If she had to be honest, a newly born baby was not very beautiful at all, but in her not-so-unbiased opinion, she had birthed Perfection.

 A little part of Rosefica wondered if she would become one of those mothers who claimed the Sun shone out of her child’s ears and whose deeds were the very pinnacle of civilization.

 Light, I hope that won’t be the case, she thought with a little smile and stroked the baby’s soft cheek. “Aren’t we a pair?” Rosefica asked softly. “Never you worry, my little Sundrop, Mother will always make sure that you’ve a place to call home, and your Father, too. Be good, for neither of us are.” The baby yawned, stirred with a little grumpy cry, and fell back to sleep.

 “You’ll never want for anything, your cups and plates will always be full. You’ll have the very best education we can muster for you. I promise. And should you not wish that, I will be your champion, so that you may have the very best life. You need worry no disgruntled disapproval from your father; I imagine you have him quite wrapped around your finger.”

 Her day of birth was especially auspicious, a high holy day for even the most religiously lax of blood elves. Surely, that would aid her in life.  Eridan was suspiciously absent from their bed; like as not writing letter after letter announcing the joyous birth of a new Sungazer and (most likely) being smug about his virility and his young, beautiful wife. Especially now that the fear of her dying was past. Short of childbed fever, they were well and clear. And as soon as the infant was old enough, her mother would vaccinate her against Bloodlung herself, and save them that terror.

 Everything was falling into place so easily, it was enough to make her heart squeeze in relief. She took a deep breath and let it out - finally glad to do so after three months of short, gaspy breaths brought along by the damage to her lungs  caused by Solandis.

 Carefully, Rosefica let herself out of bed and wiggled her toes in the plush carpeting. She stood slowly and meandered her way to Eridan’s study. Instead of triumphantly penning letters, the Magister was slumped in his chair, quill in one hand, and head resting on his palm in another. He was even snoring slightly. She chuckled and moved across the study to his side.

 “Eridan,” she murmured, prodding his gaunt cheek with her finger. “Eridan~” she singsonged and tugged on his goatee. The magister made a weak attempt to swat at her, grunting. Rosefica would not be denied (and when, if ever, had he denied her?), and continued her assault. Eventually, and grumpily, Eridan opened one eye.

 “What.” His voice was flat and heavy with sleep.

 “Come to bed; surely you do not wish to be in a chair all night.” Rosefica suggested with a gentle rise of her eyebrow.

 “I’ve slept in it before,” he argued.

 “I know, and then you complain about not being able to turn your head. Anyway, I want you in bed with me,” she said and offered her hand to him. Eridan huffed and laced his long fingers in with hers, standing stiffly. He bent his head toward each shoulder, the bones cracking and popping as he  turned to his beloved.

 He looked over her face for a bit longer than Rosefica was used to. Rosefica met his gaze, and as expected for her, did not look away. There were purple smudges under her eyes, likely exhaustion from the long labor. If he felt a pang of guilt for her being up and about, he said nothing about it.

 “Yes, my Rose, let us retire for the evening.”