sing me the tale of the harpy and the hare.
The Hapry and the Hare. As they understood it, it was a fable of a mother who was too smothering of her brood, refusing to let them experience the world. Somehow, it unlocked a deep, fathomless pain inside of Sypha, thinking of their own children. Their two daughters. Their son. They would've been too young to remember Sypha, barely toddlers a year apart. The Harpy kept the Hares too close while Sypha had abandoned their family to chase and destroy the succubus who had destroyed their family, their coven and sister witches, when they'd been young. The burn scars that effaced their entire body were proof of that wound, those that hadn't fully healed. And never would.
"The Harpy and the Hares," Sypha began as their throat closed, grief welling inexorably in their chest. "The hares resented the harpy, and... I understand that. But... at least she was there. At least she didn't abandon her children and pay the ultimate price in the pursuit of revenge. At least the harpy was there."
