#dmitra

Wake from reverie in the earliest morning. Stretch and dress lightly for the beginning of the day. Walk into the kitchen. Pour the ingredients into the bowl. Give shape to the bread dough and whisk the mix for a special treat.

Inaya comes down the stairs first, after feeling the void in our bed. We kiss as the morning meal cooks. Our hands grow libertine in the lingering excitements of the night before. Sometimes too libertine, and the making of breakfast gains a wholly different rhythm to it.

We make time with passion and talk as we wait for our foster daughter to wake. When she does, we break our fast on freshly-baked strawberry cakes and bread. Fleetwing comes down the stairs as well, chirping. There's laughter at his antics, smiles at Dmitra's excitement for lessons. I promise them a private show in the evening.

We step out the door, a family parting in three directions into the streets of Bezantur. Dmitra walks with Inaya's mother to visit the tutor; Inaya goes to the markets, to manage the details of the small shop she is to open soon. I make my way to Ruvya's, for a full day's worth of children's shows.

The puppets come to life under my hands, strands of Weave giving them purpose in the telling of tales both ancient and fresh. I see the quiet enjoyment in the eyes of Rashemi children as they take delight in their imaginations, yet unblemished by the worming despair of growing up in Thay. The Mulan enjoy themselves the most earnestly, though there's still a nervousness, a fear deeply ingrained in them; looking bad, disappointing tutors and parents, seeming like they're anything less than dignified members of the superior race. They look at the Rashemi by their side and don't really see how much different they are. It's when they grow older, and the lies grow deeper roots, that the hatreds and the indifferences begin to fester.

I try to steer their thoughts away from their future, while attempting to inspire them into something better. Some days my heart soars with the light in their faces. Other days, it drags behind me, as the adults bring abrupt ends to the children's entertainment.

Nevertheless, I come home, to my own private light in the sea of gloom all around us. I embrace my girls. I kiss each cheek. I ask about their day.

It's a predictable cadence, the heartbeat of a family.