#;hands

Metatron: We’re gonna need you down the road. Bethany: I know. I’m the last scion. Metatron: Well, you’re half right. You were the last scion. Now this is the last scion. Bethany: I’m pregnant? Metatron: Can’t put anything past you.

I fffffriggen hate hands

there is peace in another’s palm, their touch of their fingertips, the warmth of their skin against her own. there is comfort there, a sense of home long forgotten; reassurance. memories stir, mother’s hand held her left, father’s her right. they looked down to her and smile, great big smiles. she was special then. memories stir; hands soft as leather, wrinkled but not enough to be aged...they held hers carefully, giving a gentle squeeze. yes, everything will be alright. the keeper’s hands. wise and reassuring. now, fingers twitch to hold another’s. as her mind reels with thoughts, anxieties, and fears-- fingers twitch for that reassurance. that comfort only found in hands.