#lullabies

The children, three (or six?) bright-eyed Halovians with delicate feathered wings fluttering behind them, were wide awake, chattering excitedly as they played in the living room of their cozy home. They were energetic as ever, their laughter filling the room as they raced around, their tiny feathers shimmering in the soft glow of the evening light.

But Sunday... Sunday was exhausted.

Sitting on the couch, his long hair falling around him like a veil, his eyes drooped with the weight of his thoughts. His wings, usually so graceful and regal, were now a little less taut, resting against the cushions in a way that made him seem small. He tried to stay alert, a father’s duty never truly over, but his body was too tired, and before long, the exhaustion pulled him into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The children, ever perceptive of their father’s moods, noticed his slumber. His breath was slow and rhythmic, the tension in his face fading. It was rare for Sunday to rest like this, to be so unguarded. They looked at each other, exchanging glances that only siblings could share.

"We should help him rest more," one of them said quietly, a little girl let out a soft giggle that echoed in the room. Her tiny hand reached out to tug at her brother’s sleeve.

Her brother nodded solemnly. “We can sing him a lullaby... just like he sings to us.”

The youngest of the three, a boy with bright eyes and a halo of soft, twinkling light that mimicked the stars, climbed up beside his father and gently tugged at his father’s sleeve. "Dad... you sleep too much." His voice was soft, yet filled with the innocent wisdom that only a child could possess. “Let’s sing.”

The trio gathered around him, their voices blending together in a harmony so pure it seemed to lift the very air. They had heard Sunday hum lullabies to them many times before—soft, lilting melodies that made the world feel safe. Now, they sang the lullabies back to him, each note filled with love and tenderness.

Their voices were sweet, gentle, as they sang.

Each note melted into the next, their soft voices wrapping around Sunday’s form like a warm embrace. The little ones, their eyes half-closed, began to succumb to the same peaceful slumber. One by one, they nestled against their father, curling up around him like little birds seeking comfort in the warmth of their nest.

Time seemed to stretch, the melody lingering in the air long after the children had fallen asleep in a pile of soft, tangled limbs. The house was quiet except for the gentle rhythm of breath and the occasional flutter of feathers.

When you returned home from your errand—bags in hand, a soft smile on your face—it didn’t take long to notice the serene scene. The living room, usually filled with playful chaos, was now a haven of calm. Sunday, your dear husband, was resting peacefully with the children nestled around him. His golden halo was dim, his hair messily splayed against the cushions, his wings limp in a way that made him look far younger than he was.

The sight brought a warmth to your heart. Sunday had always been so dedicated to his family, so selfless in his love. It wasn’t often that you saw him this vulnerable, this at peace. He was always the pillar, the protector, the one who shouldered the weight of everyone’s troubles.

But here he was. A father. A husband. Resting.

You silently set your bags down and approached, your footsteps soft so as not to disturb the peaceful tableau. You crouched beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His eyes flickered open, just enough to meet your gaze, though sleep still clung to him like a veil.

“Did I fall asleep?” His voice was a soft murmur, barely above a whisper.

You smiled gently, nodding. “You did. And you needed it.”

Sunday’s lips curled into a small, tired smile as he glanced at the children, who were all snuggled up against him, their wings fluttering softly in their dreams. “They’re too kind,” he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. “They’re... so much like you.”

His eyes closed again, a faint sigh escaping him. You knew how deeply he loved them, how his heart swelled with pride and joy whenever he was surrounded by his little ones.

You leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re a good father, Sunday. Rest for a while longer. I’ll stay with them.”

He nodded, his grip on the children tightening just a little, and the serenity of the moment settled in once more. You watched as he drifted back into sleep, the soft lullaby of his children’s voices still echoing faintly in the air.

For now, in this quiet moment, everything was right. The family was whole, the weight of the world momentarily lifted by the simple love that bound them all together.

And as you joined them on the couch, the four of you nestled together in peaceful slumber, you couldn’t help but believe that perhaps, just perhaps, a world without suffering was possible after all.